


Regrowth

by NorthwesternInsanity



Category: Deep Purple, Dokken, Music RPF
Genre: Addiction, Angst, Angst bomb, Ashes, Cocaine, Coping, Detox, Drug Withdrawal, Fourth of July, Grief, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Loss of Identity, Loss of Trust, M/M, Meeting after separation, Party, Snow, Spirits, Starting Over, Symbolism, Talking To Dead People, coming to terms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-04-08 02:04:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 99,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14094651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NorthwesternInsanity/pseuds/NorthwesternInsanity
Summary: Summer of 1990, during the recording of Up From the Ashes and Don's time producing for XYZ.  Don Dokken is relearning life without Dokken and how to trust again, and Glenn Hughes is learning how to live life without a chemical crutch and how to come to terms with it.





	1. Under Ashes (Prologue Part 1)

**Author's Note:**

> More characters will be added in later. First chapter focuses on Don's place, next will be focused on where Glenn is. Based on a story tidbit Don Dokken told in an interview about helping Glenn Hughes get clean

Don settled the flat of bright red Salvia stalks down on top of the two bags of soil he'd stacked on the wheeled palate. He pushed aside the flat of sweet potato vine pots to make room so neither hung too far over the edges of the bag and in danger of falling with one corner taken too sharply.

Lime green, spade-shaped leaves clashed exotically against the bright red, tube shaped flowers that stood towered on their stalks. It wasn't the combination Don had set out to find, but it was among what was still available for him to work with. Of what was there, it looked interesting, it could be built on, and that was good enough for him.

Don had gotten a late start on annual plants this year. It was his own problem and nobody else's doing that had stopped him from getting on it sooner than midway through May, and he knew it. He could have done it sooner. He could have. To his defense, he'd been busy, but he'd had enough downtime to do it if he'd wanted to. He just hadn't felt like it when he had that time, and now that he had time and felt like it, the selection was picked over. What he'd have chosen in an ideal situation was no longer an option.

But he had finally secured a lineup with John Norum to start working on recording what they'd been writing together. A lineup of good musicians who Don felt comfortable to trust. That was more important to him. And XYZ had made plans to record another album and hired him to produce again. Good things were finally starting to happen, and there still were plants to be had that could look cool if he just thought about what he could do with them. Having to think on what he could do with what was left gave him something to think about away from the screwed-up world and its hectic pace. For that reason, he refused to be upset about it. 

He was grateful for it.

Besides that, he wasn't but so hard pressed to figure something out. He had enough perennials coming back to life in his big garden he'd put in last summer that if he didn't get all the regular annuals in this year, it would hardly matter. He'd nearly tripled its size trying to reign in his mind from racing down the dark tracks it had run down all winter, exacerbated by the arrival of summer when he'd usually be on a bus far from home with three other people. 

Three other people whom he hadn't seen in over a year now. Three other people whom had taken the rights to his name away from him. Three other people who had known with Don at the time they'd separated that there was no way left they could continue together, had all been devastated, even when some of them hated each other. The insult to injury was how right before that last argument that made everything snap and turn a hundred eighty degrees plunging right down to the crash, they'd been doing better. Starting to trust each other and get along. Until that fell and went up in flames, crash and burn style.

Don tripled that garden -one third for each of those three people, trying to bury all the negative thoughts and all the negative things he'd heard them say behind his back under the blooming flashes of color. Flashes of color to block them out of his mind.

As bitter as he was toward them, never wanting to trust any of them again, a part of him still missed them. Especially the one who had at least tried every now and then to make time and hang out with him rather than talking non-stop behind his back like the others. The one who had been his friend who would be there when he needed him

He supposed that that person being with the other who had been the nastiest to him - _what was his name again?_ -right now was what left him screwed up more than anything else.

Regardless, he wasn't looking for plants for his big garden so much as he was for the flower bed, and inside his old house that was in the neighborhood just outside the busy streets of LA. He still owned it. He'd planned to sell it when he got his big house further from the city, but touring had made it difficult with the time commitment, and he'd ended up renting it out. Since the end of Dokken, he'd had the time, but going through the hassle of contracts, paperwork, and meetings with people he didn't know or trust had been the last thing he'd felt like doing.

It had been tenantless for half a year now, and since XYZ would be working in LA, Don figured that on the weeks he was working with them, rather than driving the hour and a half in from his current house and back every day, he'd just stay there on the weeks he was needed, and then when he was done with this project he'd make the decision to get rid of it. For now, he had to fix it up. Lack of attention had left the small yard around it just about as screwed up as he was.

It wasn't that Don was disgusted with himself for that. The world was plenty screwed up and had always been in some place as far back in time as Don could remember, and if the world itself had a right to be so screwed up, he couldn't see why he wasn't allowed to be too, as long as he stayed rational in it.

However, Don had always felt that just because the world had to be screwed up didn't mean it couldn't have nice qualities to make it pleasant. It could be filled with all kinds of intriguing sounds tied together in melody -sometimes in ways that could rationalize how screwed up it could be. 

That was part of why Don had made the seemingly crazy decision to fill in the extra time he had outside of his solo project by accepting the offer to continue with XYZ. Even with that, he still had lots of room in the gaping hole left by the explosion of the full-time commitment that Dokken had been. The full-time commitment of which the ending had stolen his trust, half his reputation, and the right to his own name. Definitely too sour a note to leave behind without trying to cover up with something else until it could be resolved.

The world could have things that were nice to look at too, to paint a separate reality which one could escape from the hard edges of reality in. And that was why Don was out in town shopping for new plants, just as it was why he'd planted so many plants last year.

If he was going to have to spend every other week for the next few months in the small city house where he couldn't have his ever-widening garden, or more than a simple flowerbed around the front stoop, then he was going to have window boxes, hanging plants inside by the windows, standing planters in corners - _something_ to make up for it. It looked too empty as it was too. A week ago, Don had driven out there to find the flowerbed so overgrown with weeds that he'd had to set a controlled fire to them to make sure the extensive roots couldn't regenerate. It left nothing but empty dirt mixed with ashes to fill in. Ashes from destruction of the old overgrowth that were filled with nutrients to support new growth.

He now looked down the list of recommended plants for inside, having only found a fourth of the ones he'd circled because they looked particularly cool, and slightly less that looked in good shape. It still was a better selection -both for indoor and outdoor plants than at the major garden center on the edge of town, where the plants that were available looked weak and showed little sign that they would survive the transplant from the undersized store pots into the ground. Who would expect that of all the places he'd looked, he'd find the decent selection of relatively healthy plants in the garden center of the Lowe's he was currently standing in?

Relatively was the key operator. The four Torenia plants he had lined up on the palate along the edge of the soil bags were looking a bit weak, but the two wave blue ones were a hearty variety that could nearly overflow a medium sized pot from a small sprig. The other two, a cream yellow variety, were less notorious for wild growth, but Don had chosen to try a couple just for kicks because they looked interesting for a subtle contrast. Attempting to get it up to health would give him something mindless and calming to do at the small house after days working on production. He could already see it. The four Torenia plants could go on pots hooked on the iron railing of his front stoop, one of each color on either side, and liven up the whole path leading to the door from the sidewalk.

He'd decided that he could put pots with the sweet potato vine and Salvia in it on the ground at the bottoms of the rails by the corners of the bottom doorstep. Those would be heat resistant enough away from the shadow of being right up against the house and have a tropical appearance, even if not truly or inappropriately tropical for the setting. 

He also was resolving to come back later for something else to put in the small flower bed along the front that would be heat resistant and not require too much water. The ultramarine flower of Blue Daze might work to set off the colors of the Salvia and sweet potato pots, and complement the pale bluish-purple tone of the Torenia. That would be an unusual color too, which seemed fair enough if the space on the ground out front was so limited.

That decided it. Unless if he thought of something better by the time he got back, he'd get that, and whatever plant available and in good shape he could find that made small white flowers. Just to make the Blue Daze pop out. And perhaps a few Black-eyed Susan's to put behind them so there was something tall. That would fill in all the space and also contrast. Oh, yes, he was liking that idea...

_Wait a minute; where was I?_

Blinking and refocusing on the list he held, Don snapped out of his tangent thought train. Right. He was still looking for one more house plant. Something else that was available that he hadn't circled but could still be nice to have.

_Spider plant? This one with striated leaves looks interesting -wait. Oh no, those things are like guppies. Worse. You don't even need two -all it takes is one, and next thing you know, you got a ton once it's done making those sprigs, and I don't have room for all of those when I'm not going to want to throw them away..._

Parking his palate cart by the store doors and in line of site through them, Don went back inside to the racks of the more stereotypical house plants. Carnivorous plants and succulents. He already knew he wasn't looking for those.

_Why are you being so Hell-bent on this, Don? Maybe this is enough for now. You already got begonias yesterday to put in the kitchen flower box in the breakfast nook window. You have four orchids to put around the house -two red ones and two dark purple ones -and those aren't common... Ferns for hanging baskets for the living room... There's that African violet that could go in the bedroom windowsill... The philodendron could take off and grow everywhere around the living room too..._

Don stopped listing as he noticed a pot shoved under the rack behind some cacti that had succulent leaves, but rather than the typical short, squat formation, had dark, woody, twisting trunks which the leaves grew from.

A jade plant. It looked interesting with how it had twisted around. It also looked as though it had been there a while to have grown that far. Forgotten, somehow. How ironic. The world jaded with the idea of a jade plant. 

"Hmmm." Don turned the pot around, getting a look at it, then realized why.

One of the trunk sections was bent at a horrible angle, splintered off, showing twisted, broken wood holding on by a soft, green strand, scared over in that position on one side with soft, light wood, and somehow it was still managing to grow and produce green leaves on the far end no duller than the others.

It was broken and would never look perfect, but it was quite alive. Despite its rough start, perhaps it could continue to be prolific and continue growing and living if it was placed in the right environment where it wouldn't be further broken and pushed into the shadows.

_If. Big damn if._ Don knew plenty about pushing out of a rough place, only to end up kicked down into another ditch by those he'd gotten out of the first with. He was trying to regrow from it right now.

What other person looking for a plant, spare from the rare extreme plant enthusiast like himself in the next couple of months would be willing to look past such an obvious deformity, choose it over other plants, and care enough to give it a fighting chance when it was just a plant?

_That's it. Before I drive myself crazy over it when it's 'just a plant'._

Don picked it up, went outside, stacked it in the one remaining spot he had on his palate, and maneuvered his way over to the checkout.

The cashier eyed the jade plant suspiciously when Don set it up after getting the soil bags, flats, and the smaller plant containers scanned.

"You sure you don't want to exchange that for one that's in better shape?" he asked suspiciously.

"Nope," said Don, shaking his head and counting out the total he owed. "I think I can fix it up and get it right. Something to do."

With that, he finished paying and loaded up the back of his truck in the parking lot, still thinking when he threw the gear into overdrive and got on the road, taking the corners easy to not throw his cargo about.

_I'll fix it up and get it right, and in the process, I'll finish fixing up the rest of this mess and trying to get my own self right._


	2. Under Snow (Prologue Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was snowing every day in Glenn Hughes' life in Atlanta, and he was snowed in a foot over his head, unable to blindly find the surface above him

Glenn's eyes fluttered open to sun through his bedroom window, and the simultaneous pattering of rain on the glass. _'The devil beating his wife again,'_ as the people around here called it. 

The drops glistened painfully bright on the clear surface, causing Glenn to close his eyes against the stabbing glare and roll over to the other side of the bed and look at his beside table. The numbers on the clock read 2:30. 2:30 PM, through a cloudy haze of white residue on the glass surface of the clock, and the faint reflection of the white line he'd left cut on the surface of the table in front of it before falling asleep.

That was as much as he knew as to where he was in time, without going to look at the calendar on the fridge. That still could have told him wrong too, if he'd slept for more than a day straight and couldn't have crossed the previous day off. The only way to be sure was to turn on the news, if he would be awake or thinking to turn it on during the time that it would be on in the evening.

Since his last move, all the days it seemed ran into one continuous day. He'd moved to the Coastal Southeast. Without much thought, he'd moved to the first place that came into his mind where he knew it would be sunny, bright, and nice out most of the time. Someplace warm and humid, where snow didn't happen.

Still, it was snowing every day in Glenn Hughes' life in Atlanta, and he was snowed in a foot over his head, unable to blindly find the surface above him.

It was snowing now as he tried to lift his head from the pillow, feeling his head ache and spin, and his whole body tremble, before he braced himself with one rigid hand on the corner of the bedside table. With one loud, wet snuffle to clear his running nose, then a deeper, stronger one, the white line of powder disappeared from the tabletop. A few minutes later, he felt the speed of his heart picking up and the ache in his head numb to a carefree, buzzing sensation.

The buzz was just one stage in the cycle he'd been going through. There was the buzz, then there was the numb. There was the agitation that followed -jittery bursts of energy that made it impossible to sit still, then the need to get up and run like hell to no place in particular, out of fear or sheer hyperactivity. Following that was always the crash. Collapsing and feeling as though he could hardly move if he wanted to. Then the lethargic jitters, during which every movement felt like it took all the energy he could summon, and would still be uncoordinated. Depending on whether he got the next hit of coke or not at that point determined whether the cycle restarted then at the buzz, or jumped to a tighter loop restarting with the hyperactivity.

He'd feel too weak to eat during the jittery and weak stages where every part of him was twitching and rigid, or simply forget to for days on end when he couldn't gather his thoughts. Then he'd wind up ravenous and gorge himself until he was in pain multiple times during his hyperactive stage, sometimes until he made himself sick, further weakening himself on top of the drugs. That would continue for two days or so, and then he'd shut down and end up back where he started, ready to go through the cycle again. 

Glenn wasn't sure how long it had been since he'd fallen through from over his head to over his head and past his reach with rock bottom under his feet, but he knew he had at some point. He supposed that when he'd left Black Sabbath after not being able to stay standing for a number of shows, he'd been pretty darn close if he wasn't already there.

That was funny, when he thought about it. The second band in which he'd ended up in following the departure of Ian Gillan from said band. Except this time, he was the lead singer, and only singer replacing him, rather than being the bassist contributing to vocals.

He was screwed up coming out of both of those bands, except this time around, he certainly felt more for who had born the majority of the burden the first time.

Coincidentally, it was David who had then tried to help him up after he'd crashed out of Sabbath. Glenn decided not to get himself into another touring band with the deterioration of his performing ability, but still having his ability to sing and needing something to do, David offered -or really, pleaded -to work with him in session for backup vocals on some Whitesnake tracks.

There were some times during that session where Glenn could have sworn he'd have wound up annoyed to death by David if it weren't for already knowing him well and expecting it from him. That and how funny it was. Glenn couldn't remember a time his own mother had fawned over him quite so much!

_"For goodness sake, Glenn -have yourself a proper bite to eat today before you collapse and go overboard tomorrow!"_

_"Is something the matter? Does it hurt? Headache? You stay here, and I'll go get you a cuppa and something to take the edge off that."_

_"Glenn, let me see your eyes; you look knackered, and is that-? Oh dear... Perhaps you'd best go relax on the sofa. Let me get you a spare handkerchief too then. I see you're ill today."_

Of course, in the latter most case, Glenn knew that David knew plenty well that his nose was running from the coke and not from being ill. But it was his illness in a way, and it was typical David Coverdale, more than ever before with the passage of time, to sugarcoat anything less than pleasant with every delicate sounding euphemism possible. 

It was also typical for him to hold on tightly to those he had as long as he could, especially those he cared about, and this was far from the first time David had clung to Glenn. Glenn had only put down vocals on a few tracks and only sung on a small few of the days of the recording sessions, but he had been in the studio with David almost every day of them, and Glenn could see him do everything to draw out those days as long as possible.

But they both knew David couldn't have him beyond the recording time when he was in his state whether they wanted to work together further or not, and Glenn knew well enough why. David had a battle of his own in Whitesnake, and he'd only just managed to dig himself out of the endless hole he'd been in a couple short years ago; less than that when he'd tried to help Glenn. He had enough to deal without Glenn's battle pulling him back down.

Besides that, David was prone to getting too overprotective and anxious about such matters, and Glenn wouldn't put it beyond David to run himself to the brink of an early death if he let him. Hell, the time Glenn got a nosebleed while singing, he could have sworn poor David nearly had a heart attack!

It was one that came on sudden and rapid. The mess was so incredible -a trail of blood drops on the floor everywhere Glenn walked, and blood all over his face and clothes -and whether it was due to panic or due to just how bad the mess was, David had not bothered to sugarcoat it. Everyone was running around the studio; David was hollering for help -that there was blood everywhere, for somebody to get something to clean it with, and for Glenn to stop running around before he made himself bleed faster. Then David had all but dragged him down the hall to the studio bathroom, sat him down, and pulled half the paper off a roll of toilet paper at once to help Glenn staunch the flow of blood.

The nosebleed and resulting commotion lasted ten agonizing minutes, by which time Glenn was lightheaded and David was near tears, breathless with panic, and threatening to have somebody call for an ambulance. It was only when enough time had passed to determine that Glenn's blood loss didn't warrant a trip to the hospital, and for embarrassment to set in on both parties that David drove Glenn home, declaring he'd been through enough excitement for the day and needed to rest. It was true for both of them. And David didn't have it in his heart to stay mad or scold Glenn any further than a tormented cry of _"don't ever do that again; my nerves won't take it, and you know why they can't!"_

While the whole ordeal of blood spurting everywhere for a seemingly impossible amount of time had been a catastrophe to David, the sad truth for Glenn was that it was nothing new, nor had it been new in a long time. He supposed it was newer than the end of his time in Deep Purple with David, otherwise David would have seen it before and perhaps not been so thrown, but it was practically normal for him.

Then the album was finished, and David was off with his new band members on the road again, and it was at that time that Glenn ended up moving where he was now, having no idea where to go other than the first things that popped into his head, Atlanta being one of them. 

It was around the same time he'd gotten a call from Don Dokken. It was a complicated story how he'd gotten to know Don, and one that was tangled up and buried in the snow somewhere out of the reach of Glenn's memory, but he enjoyed the babyfaced singer's witty mind.

Don had landed himself in a hole of his own, and Glenn could only think that the phone call they'd had, just telling stories of what they'd done since the last time they'd talked or seen each other, was out of numbness. It was Don trying to distract himself from the confusion of how Dokken had ended so suddenly at the peak of its success, and from the emptiness it left. When he began talking about trying to figure out a new project, Glenn supposed it was Don trying to carry on in a way that would make it feel as if nothing was missing.

This time, Glenn refused entirely to commit to anything musical when Don had hinted at a project, knowing there was no way he could keep doing projects in the state he was in. His tolerance was so high that it was now nearly impossible to keep himself functioning. He would go into the twitches and shakes, be unable to sing properly for more than a few minutes at once half of the time, and he felt weaker all the time. Surely by now he'd just be letting another person down, and he didn't have it in him to put Don down further than he already was. At least he didn't intend to.

Somehow, by another decision that Glenn could hardly recall happening, it led to Don looking out for him anyway. He was away from recording and performing all together, trying to get himself clean, even when he still had yet to do it and had no idea how to, and while he was, Don was supporting him. He provided the rent while Glenn tried to resist that next hit of coke, until he passed out from weakness, or panicked and ended up taking it anyway because an irrational feeling of paranoia and impending doom swept over him.

He wasn't looking forward to his next phone call with Don to check in, because he'd scored some more coke a couple of days ago when he'd promised he wouldn't. The night before he'd done it had left him near screaming in the dark in fear of _God knows what,_ and he'd gone out and done it without thinking the next day, barely able to stand on his feet by anything other than the desperation to make it stop.

Oh well. He supposed it wasn't all bad. At least he'd managed to get the rent that Don sent mailed in on time this month. At least he thought he'd sent it off three days ago. He couldn't remember his trip to the post office, but it wasn't on the dresser where he'd have put it until sending it off, so he assumed he had. 

Glenn had sent it a week late the month before while he found himself on another binge, completely losing track of the days and himself until it was a week past due. He supposed he'd been lucky enough that the company hadn't complained this time, because Don never asked him about why it was late. He had, somehow, been able to tell that Glenn had gone on a binge though, when he called to check in then. Perhaps due to the shaking getting into his voice.

Don scolded him for that binge. Gently, but not kindly. Don, in his current position of control over Glenn, was right between the two extremes of the most controlling figures Glenn had known. David Coverdale, and Ritchie Blackmore. It seemed funny even to Glenn that he thought that with how completely different those two were, but it was true.

Don was too down to earth and logical to be like David, and perhaps more stringent in what he expected. He was also a lot less affectionate and openly caring in his way of doing it; therefore, less willing to overlook a slip-up without saying exactly what he thought. But he was far more openly caring than Ritchie, and too playful underneath his complex thoughts -a true goof-off beyond his logic. He was less stringent; and while Glenn did not know what Don would do if his temper was pushed too far, he saw him being the type of person who would try to fix the situation or change it for better, rather than it leading to something getting broken or outright destroyed in a vengeful manner.

Don wouldn't be pleasant about this current binge, but he wouldn't destroy Glenn for it. If Glenn didn't manage to destroy himself first, that was.

It made Glenn wonder what was next after this current chapter of his life... or if this was just how it was going to be.


	3. Rent and Phone Tag (Prologue Part 3/final)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don arrives home to a letter and phone call concerning the rent, and Glenn finds himself facing a big decision and preparing for departure -but he's not alone, nor will he be.

Just after noon, Don's car ambled down the length of the driveway though the tunnel of bushes he'd built up around it last year. As soon as it was up perpendicular to the walk from the driveway to the front door, he threw it out of gear and pulled the stack of envelopes he'd pulled from the post box before coming up the driveway out of the front passenger seat.

He'd spent the night in the city house after spending all afternoon digging in the ash-laden dirt, setting up the pots, and driving back and forth to the Lowe's he'd found luck at. He now had two large pots of Salvia backed with a sprig of Liriope to add height, and fronted by cascading sweet potato vine down the front. The Torenia were in pots, and he would rig those up on the rails once the plants were past the three days of initial shock from being replanted and he could move them from full shade to partial shade without killing them. The flowerbed was lined with Blue Daze and white Portulaca, and he'd found a variety of Black-eyed Susans that rather than having petals yellow all the way to the center, worked their way from a bright yellow to a dark, burnt orange from the edge into the center. Those caught his eye, and he was pleased with how they looked along the back of the flowerbed.

He'd gotten everything planted in one afternoon, gotten himself and the gardening gear cleaned up, and by 8:00 PM, he was ready to drop, even with as insanely early as that was for him. So rather than driving well over an hour to get home, he just crashed on the couch, making mental note to bring sheets for the bed in the main bedroom the next time he drove in, as he'd need them when he was spending every other week there.

Despite the insomnia he'd been having lately, he'd dropped off to sleep on the couch faster than he had in his bed at home in two weeks. As ironic as that seemed, Don couldn't help but notice as he drifted off, for a second he felt as though he were on a bus, and could have sworn he heard continuous road noise. The noise was really the air conditioning unit, but it didn't stop him from hearing road noise. Maybe his body was confused by how long it had been since he'd slept in a narrow bunk on a bus, and the couch was the closest thing that could set it right. And he was physically exerted, such as on the nights when he would sleep well in his bunk after a long show when he didn't hear three other people staying up late to talk about things they thought he hadn't heard.

Or he was just that satisfied with the way the front of the house looked now. That was simpler, and nicer to think about. Don tried to accept that as his cause for the rare good night's sleep as he drove home.

It didn't stop his mind from still wanting to jump on that bus, until he had the mail as a new topic to ponder.

The stack he'd pulled from his post box arriving home was large, but considerably small for containing two day's worth of mail -yesterday's and today's. And it was smaller than what he would get in one day when he was on breaks in Dokken tours and receiving his mail at home rather than through tour managers on the bus. The world could have hardly cared less now that he was no longer with three other people. They had held his identity, it seemed, just as they held it hostage now.

Don separated out the junk mail in the front seat of his car, planning to throw everything that wasn't relevant away before even going in the house. He didn't need to bring more pointless, untrue stuff into his life when he'd had enough.

That narrowed the stack down to three envelopes. The first one was from Mikkey Dee. Don knew that was the copy of his signed agreement with the two co-producers Don had gotten for his project with John Norum. That was practically a load of stress lifted from his shoulders in that envelope -knowing he had a drummer onboard and having it confirmed now. As if to guard it with his life, Don tucked it against his side with his arm.

The second was the studio rent contract for XYZ, with final paperwork he had to go through before starting with them. More tedious stuff for him before they could get on with it. He'd save that for tonight when he hit that agonizing, hour or longer window he seemed to get every night as of late of not being able to think of something interesting to do.

The third envelope was addressed from a landlord in Atlanta -an address he knew well enough to know it was legitimate, and had a red stamp on it marking its priority.

_What is this all about?_ Don thought to himself. He took his keys to the envelope, ripped it open, and glared down the letter inside with suspicion.

When he got finished looking at it, without further thought, he got out of the car and swiftly went up to the front door to let himself in the house, only stopping to stash the junk mail in the outdoor garbage can. Keeping the letter in question in his hand, and noting the phone number on it, he went straight to the phone.

He'd recently gotten one of those new, miniature cube shaped things attached to his phone -"Caller I.D." they called it -that flashed a little red light if somebody had called him when he was out of the house, and he could push two arrow shaped buttons to see what numbers had called him while he was away. However, Don found it rarely so much useful for that as he did when the phone was actively ringing and he could see the number. If he knew who it was, he could figure out if it was important or not, and make the decision whether he wanted to pick it up or not.

The red light was flashing away, and when Don checked it, the number on the letter showed up as the last three calls he'd missed.

Of course, that landlord called him three times in the past day, never mind the fact he had instructed him to call as soon as he could. Apparently, that, being now, wasn't soon or good enough. Which meant the call he was about to make was not setting up to be pleasant.

He picked up the phone and dialed, listening to it ring on the other side. _May as well get this over with now._

"Hello?"

"Hey, this is Don Dokken; you sent me a letter and said you wanted me to call-"

"You finally done playing phone tag with me, Don?"

Don blew up a sigh into his bangs -which these days were wearing thin enough without more people getting on his case to exacerbate it.

"Hey, I don't sit around at home all day waiting for the phone to ring. Contrary to popular belief, I do have a life that doesn't involve a full time touring band, you know," Don growled. _I haven't figured out everything that's in its entirety, but I know I have one._

"Look, Don, you can cut the smart talk. I want my rent. It's eight days past due, and you've got a week's grace period left."

Don squinted, and a reflective tone of suspicion crept into his voice.

"What are you talking about? I already sent the rent; a week ago."

"The rent came a week late last month, Don, and its late again."

Sometimes little white lies were a necessity in life, and this, Don decided, was one of those times.

"Tell you what; let me check my calendar to see when I sent it out this month and last month, and I'll call the post office to confirm they picked it up from my post box on those days, then I'll call you back when they get back to me on it. I'm telling you though, if everything worked as it should have, it should have been there on time."

The line went dead. At least he didn't have to argue to get off the phone, even if he had another person on this planet pissed off with him for something stupid and out of his control.

That small victory was short lived, as Don's mind chased up the events of the past week, snatching up moments and putting them together.

He remembered calling Glenn to tell him he was sending the rent for Glenn to send in. Glenn had acknowledged it, but thinking about that call, Glenn's words were sluggish and broken up. He sounded weak, and Don could practically picture in his mind the way a coked-up person's jaw clinched and spasmed, making it hard to control speech in an extreme case of being high, or having gone longer than usual without a hit. He'd witnessed it enough in three certain people, especially one of them, right before the end. That had been so hard, seeing _him_ get that way.

Suddenly, a sinking feeling went through Don's stomach. He should have known with Glenn that this current conundrum would have been a possibility, but after all the ways he'd been let down in the past couple of years, Don had hoped that wouldn't have been one of them.

He couldn't bring himself to get angry, even when he tried to. It was more sad than anything, and Glenn was suffering. He at least acknowledged on his own accord that he had a problem; otherwise he wouldn't have been camped out in Atlanta away from the scene. The music scene and its drug traps were the last place Glenn needed to be now. But the scene was far from a black and white line for drug use, and in the hold of the drugs already, it wasn't hard for Glenn to fall into the traps outside of the scene either.

Perhaps, Don wondered, Atlanta wasn't the best place either.

He had an idea, but damned if it was the last he had.

Thinking a few moments longer, Don picked the phone back up, and this time, dialed a different number.

........

Glenn was sitting on the couch with his bass in his lap when the phone rang. He'd pulled it out, intending to play, but exhaustion set in after a time, and he'd been unable to keep his rhythm steady.

He sat there for a few moments, but when the phone cut off after four rings, then started ringing again, he knew that the call was from someone he knew. So he got up, despite how sluggish he felt, and picked up.

"Hello?"

"Glenn?"

"Don?" Glenn stretched the phone cord almost to its limit as he sat back down.

"Glenn, we need to talk. What's happening?"

"Not much, I would say. Just hanging in there, or trying to, you could say." Glenn forced a playful tone into his voice.

"Define 'trying to'," prompted Don.

Glenn gulped, feeling his stomach sink, even with as light and empty as it was. As he felt heat rising to his face, flashing across his cheeks and making him dizzy, he realized it was probably just as well it was empty. He'd have been sick otherwise.

"I suppose you already know I slipped up again."

"No shit," said Don. "Glenn, at this point I'm not going to get any more upset, so I'm just asking you to be honest, for pity's sake. What happened with the rent I sent? Did it get to the landlord?"

"He didn't get it? It's not in the house anymore."

Glenn began chasing the past few days again. He still couldn't remember much during that time; he just remembered getting the cocaine after he'd tried not to. He hadn't -or had he...?

"Glenn, I got a letter, and a phone call. And it was late last month. This month, it's over a week late and still a no-show as of less than an hour ago."

Glenn stayed silent. He was at loss for words, by his own doing he couldn't even remember.

"You gotta get out of Atlanta, Glenn."

Don sighed heavily through the silence, slow and long both in and out.

"I think it might be best for you to come out to California and stay where I can look out for you. Anywhere than where you are-"

Glenn shook his head and moaned. "Don, I can't do that or ask that trouble of you-"

"It won't be any more trouble than now if it's better for you. I'll cover getting you out here; you don't have to worry about that part," said Don. "You'll have a good place to stay, and I'll watch out for you and help you in this. But if you stay out there, I'm gonna have to leave you on your own, because I'm not going to keep sending you rent and finding out that it went up your nose instead of where it was supposed to. I can't keep doing this. _You_ can't keep doing this. Something's gotta change."

"I'm sorry, Donny -I really am." Glenn leaned forward and pressed his forehead against the cold, steely strings, unsure whether it was more out of shame or out of weakness.

Don sighed into the phone again.

"I'm sorry too, Glenn. I'm not sure for who, but I am. But unless you can tell me another reliable way how we can fix this, this is just it." 

He paused for a second; Glenn supposed it was to scan his mind and double check that he hadn't thought of anything else.

"If you want to think on it and call me back, you can," Don finally said. "But I have to know by tomorrow; I can't wait around forever."

The line went dead, leaving Glenn to the emptiness of the house to ponder the situation.

He was still pondering it nine hours later, when the sun was down and the sky had finally gone dark all the way, and despite it being just before midnight, the weak feeling justified him climbing back into bed, even if he would end up lying awake most of the night. He'd put a glass of hard liquor on the beside table in case he needed to sip on it and pass out if paranoia hit too hard. 

Maybe it was true. He'd ended up here because he knew he had to get away from fame, or even the smaller public eye, and isolate himself. But the majority of the time here, he was entirely alone. Alone, save for one small presence.

It scared the shit out of him, and while fear was only one of the reasons he was still slipping under the depths of the hole he was snowed into, it was certainly a big one.

_Hey,_ echoed a soft voice in Glenn's mind, and he shivered when the night breeze blew in the window just at the right angle to softly brush through his hair with it. _Hey, now, Glenn -what's all this?_

"I've fucked up," Glenn moaned, feeling his heart skip a beat and start racing as the phone call swarmed around his head. "I've fucked up again; I let Don down and I've hurt his trust when he's been struggling so much with that already. I didn't want to do it; I didn't mean to. I can't even remember if I did it or when. I tried, and I can't..."

As he tried to grasp the glass on the bedside table, his hand spasmed so hard that it slipped through his fingers, tilted over the edge, and hit the floor with a loud crash of shattering glass.

"Oh, Tommy, I'm so bloody fucked up!"

_Glenn... Glenn, calm down. Before you make yourself feel worse. I'm with you. Calm down._

"I can't even promise myself I'll do any better out there!"

_You're not even having a good time with it anymore, Glenn. You're miserable, and you don't see it changing here. We can't have that._

"You think it should change, Tommy?" Glenn turned his head to gaze out the window into the swirling grey clouds against the dark sky. "Will it change if I go out West?"

_I can't know any better than you know, Glenn. I never met Don, and I don't know what you'll end up doing. But it could change for better out there. It's possible. I don't see it happening here though._

"I'm scared, Tommy." Glenn let his heavy eyelids fall closed again; his whisper in the emptiness trembled. "I try not to show it, but I'm so scared."

_I would be too, if I had to do it. But I'll be with you._

"If I stop the drugs, will I not be able to hear you anymore?" Terror seized Glenn, and he gripped the top edge of his sheets, feeling the speeding thump of his heart through his whole body.

_I sure don't have any drugs with me hearing and talking to you, and I haven't all this time; I don't see how you not having them will change anything._

Glenn could practically see Tommy smile, somewhere in his mind from the past. The memory vision was slightly transparent, but it only made the figure look more like an angel.

_It's our hearts that are connected, Glenn. We always had that, even before I left. It was always stronger than the drugs. And that's something that won't change if you keep yours strong._

Glenn had to swallow hard and put the back of his arm over his eyes to keep it together with that one.

"I really wish I could see you, Tommy. It's too empty around here."

_I'm always around. You just can't see me, and I can't see you on your level where I am -but it doesn't mean either of us aren't here. I wish I could see you, and I'll be happy for the day that I can. But as much as I do and I love you, I don't want to see you physically with me until you've lived the life you're supposed to. And if everything goes the right way, then I don't want you with me any time soon. Not as soon as you're coming right now._

Glenn looked up to the clock.

It was midnight on the East Coast, but still early enough on the West Coast, if he acted now. Before he let the paranoia sink in any further and he ended up paralyzed.

"I'll call him, Tommy. I promise."

Glenn reached for the phone, picked it up, and pushed in the number, having to click off the line and start again once when his fingers slipped. The phone rang three times, then the click of the line coming on sounded through.

"Glenn?" asked Don.

"Yes." Glenn paused and licked his lips, only then realizing just how dry his mouth was when he tried to speak. "I've been thinking, and I'm ready. I'll come to California."

When Don didn't respond right away, Glenn nearly passed out, thinking he'd done something else he wasn't aware of to anger Don.

"Alright then," said Don, finally. "Then I'll be calling you back tomorrow, or the day after. We'll work on getting you a flight booked, and what you'll need shipped here. Tomorrow you can tell me what you want to pack so I can arrange shipping."

Glenn nodded, exhaling slowly. He'd said it. He'd committed. The scariest part was done, and he couldn't back out now.

"Okay then, Don -I'll call you then."

"Goodnight, Glenn."

Glenn looked down over the edge of the bed at the shattered glass and spilt alcohol and sighed.

_Well, look at it this way -you were hoping you wouldn't end up using it. You can't now -at least not that one._

"Funny." Glenn got up and went to the bathroom, using his hand to take a drink of water from the sink. He felt the sides of his cheeks begin to slide past his teeth normally rather than laying sticky and dry against them.

_No, I'm sorry, Glenn. I'd clean it up and get you something else if I could, really..._

Glenn sighed and wiped his mouth on the back of his wrist as he pulled away from the sink. He'd clean the mess in the morning. Even if Tommy were able to and would have been happy to, he'd have felt guilty after everything else today to let him clean it.

"I love you, Tommy," he sighed as he sank back down on the bed. "So much. I'll always still wish I can see you, no matter what you do tell me."

_Get out West, and get yourself right, Glenn. I'll still be waiting here a hundred years from now; don't worry about never catching me this time._


	4. Then Came the Last Days of May

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end of May arrives, along with Glenn's time in Atlanta. Glenn has a difficult journey out to California, and Don is there for him at the end of it, where they both have a much longer journey to begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own the lyrics, nor the song, "Then Came the Last Days of May" -Blue Öyster Cult does.

Another week and a half had passed, and Glenn was finally going to California.

It took two days of calling and checking for last minute openings before Don found an open spot on a flight that was ideal for Glenn -one leaving straight from Atlanta and landing in California without any layovers. 

Considering preparation time, he was glad he had pushed for openings on a flight that was over a week out, rather than one within three days. He almost wished he'd given it even more time for the sake of making the process less rushed and hectic. Outside of his time working with John Norum, Don had to work with Glenn over the phone to help him stay focused on getting everything packed up. Not being entirely focused himself, Don forgot to call and give phone help on some of those days, further crunching the time. But they did manage to finish preparing two days early -if with a lot of rushing and stress -so Don took it as a step in the right direction.

Once Glenn was packed, they arranged to have his items he needed but couldn't fit in his luggage shipped. Glenn had a week's worth of basic needs in his suitcase for the plane, he had two boxes being sent by UPS, and his bass and its amp were being FedEx'd up with special handling instructions. On the afternoon of the twenty-third, one of those occasional days Glenn felt blessed to be feeling semi-normal, he managed to get both dropped off at the respective stores. Glenn didn't expect to see the boxes for the better part of the first week he was with Don, and he knew it would be at a week or longer after his arrival before he'd see the bass again.

Then came the twenty-fifth of May, marking the last week of the month, and the day of Glenn's flight.

It was a very odd day in Atlanta -very sunny, almost too hot for the late spring, yet dry in the air rather than with the usual humidity. Glenn could have sworn he was in familiar California weather before he'd gotten there.

He had to wake up at 6:00 in the morning for the flight. An hour suitable to be going to sleep at in the touring world he'd been in. The plane was taking off at 10:00, he had to be at the airport at least two hours beforehand to make sure he had some wander-time in case he got sidetracked from security to the gate, and he didn't trust himself to move anywhere fast in the morning if he woke up feeling lethargic. It took the first half hour just to get up, then another half hour to get dressed and call a cab to get him. He spent the last hour waiting for the cab checking over his luggage to make sure last minute items he'd needed when he woke up were now packed away after use. Attempting to wake himself up and alleviate the weakness, he forced himself to drink a cup of tea, which was all he could stomach as his nerves ramped up.

Glenn ended up snorting a bit before the cab arrived. Although he knew just as well as Don had told him that it wasn't the right thing to do, Glenn wasn't ready to face withdrawals waking up this early in the morning. He certainly wasn't ready to face them on an airplane either. He could start the worst of it when he arrived in California.

The cab ride was uneventful, and having hit the initial high, Glenn couldn't remember most of it. He just knew that the sun was already glaring in the sky at a diagonal angle that made it glare down through the windows of the cab. He was vaguely aware of burrowing with his back pushed into the corner between the back seat and the door of the cab, leaning against the back of the seat sideways and looking down toward the floor of the cab to hide from the attacking sunlight. The uncommon dryness burned with the coke in his nose, and he sniffled when he felt his nose running. 

With his cheek and ear pressed against the backseat, he felt the vibration of the car on the road, and his stimulated senses picked up the varying groans of the engine as the cab switched between accelerating, idling, and braking. Over the groan of the engine, he could hear a slow, bluesy, lamenting guitar line dancing around delicate arpeggio patterns on the radio, with a low, pondering voice singing softly it's final thoughts over the pattern.

_...They're okay, the last days of May, I'll be breathing dry air;_  
I'm leaving soon, the others are already there.  
Wouldn't you be interested in comin' along, instead of stayin' here?  
It's said the West is nice this time of year; that's what they say. 

Not even the radio could distract him from the uncertainty he was in, it seemed. 

Glenn didn't need to be told that it was nice in California; he'd been there and experienced it before. It was where he supposed his drug addiction had truly spiraled out of control, if in conjunction with what he considered to be the most special time of his life. Glenn had placed himself on the opposite side of the country from California after Black Sabbath and recovering from the vocal injury that had ended that, thinking that being as far from familiarity was the only way he could find it in him to get away from the drugs.

Maybe, he concluded, as the cab arrived at the airport, going back to where he'd started, as ironic as it seemed, would be the answer to turning it around. If nothing else, it was something he hadn't tried.

With the exception of a the brief moment when he got security checked, Glenn wore his sunglasses like a shield from the time he got out of the cab in Atlanta until the time he got off the plane in LA. The moment he got his luggage out of the cab and was through the airport doors, everything was a blur of nerves and sheer internal terror as it dawned on him that even though it had felt like a dream and hardly registered until now, this was it, and it was happening whether he was ready for it or not. He would be through security, on the tram to the terminal his flight was leaving from, and on his way to California in two short hours.

He wondered if he was sick enough to be unrecognizable, but the shades weren't a shield for his identity so much as for how vulnerable he felt when that scary realization struck.

Glenn had easily lost count of how many plane rides he'd been on in his life. Hundreds for his career by now, and then a good number for pleasure back when he could manage that. He'd practically lived on a plane for a time in Deep Purple, and some of those flights that took off directly before and after shows ran into each other, undetectable under the white powder that coated everything like snow. He'd been on many a commercial flight with Deep Purple too -the ones in the final year of which were the greatest fun when Tommy would get so excited over flying and enjoy every moment on the plane with Glenn as if it were the greatest thing in the world.

Glenn had been on planes that had flown both above, and through everything. He'd been on flights where the landings had skidded frighteningly due to ice or snow on the runway. He'd been on planes that had tossed and pitched overtop of thunderclouds. He'd watched out windows that had nothing but grey fog visible, seen raindrops sliding over wings through the window, the flashes within clouds as thunder discharged below them, even when wind made the elevator flaps on the backs of the wings tremor and bend in flight.

He'd been through flights of varying degrees of turbulence and calmness from all different weather patterns, both asleep and awake.

This flight was calm and gentle. It was sunny with a beautiful blue sky all around the aircraft. There hardly a cloud in it, giving a perfect view of the stunning landscapes across the country the whole duration as Glenn leaned against the window, staring out listlessly.

For every reason he had to love this flight, Glenn had never felt more miserable on a plane in his life.

He had never looked at a plane and questioned its ability to fly intact, but the Boeing 757 he'd seen at the gate that was to carry him -so narrow compared to the wide-bodied jets he'd often traveled on when flying commercially on tours, and impossibly long for its width compared to the length of the Starship -may as well have looked like a pencil with wings. He had visions of imaginary hands snapping that fuselage in half under its own weight during takeoff as though it were a pencil.

When the plane took off, Glenn gripped the edge of his seat and the arm rest up against the wall of the plane so tightly that his knuckles turned white. If he'd had any doubt before getting on the plane that he was on the edge, one misstep from plunging to insanity, it was gone as soon as the plane hit the runway and shot forward, going faster and faster until it hopped up from the ground, and he felt that releasing one finger from the seat would send him hurtling out of it. Never mind the seatbelt he was wearing to prevent that.

Then a darker paranoia set in once the plane finished climbing to fly level, and Glenn could have burst into tears. He stayed staring out the window so that he couldn't see that he was all but locked into his seat by two other people between him and the aisle, watching the ground below and telling himself he'd be back down on it soon enough. Soon enough, but not soon enough for him to be free from the confines of the impossibly thin metal tube with wings around him.

Trying to distract himself, Glenn dug for the silver lining of the situation. He wouldn't be alone in Atlanta anymore. Getting away from everyone, though it had been a different strategy that had some sense to it, did seem like it might not have been the best idea now -at least not the complete isolation he'd tried. He'd never enjoyed being alone; how was he to deal with the misery of detoxing without at least some regular contact with a warm body?

Getting up to visit the lavatory halfway through the flight gave Glenn another thing to be grateful for he hadn't yet considered. He was grateful it was a direct flight Don had gotten him on; he had no idea how he would have deplaned and walked to another gate without his legs failing him, knowing he had to get on another plane and go through the terror of taking off for a second time in the day. Whether it was from the weakness of slowly crashing off the high he'd induced before leaving the house, or the grip of pure adrenaline he was crashing into, his legs were shaking so badly that getting past the two people between himself and the aisle, then down the few rows he needed to pass was almost enough to make him collapse. Getting back proved more difficult, and Glenn all but collapsed back in his seat against the window.

He wouldn't remember an hour later in that flight whether he'd actually made use of the lavatory or not, or if it had only been a way out of his seat when he could no longer sit still another second. If he'd had to stay in his seat, he feared he'd have eventually punched something, or yanked a magazine out of the back of the seat in front of him to sling it through the cabin in a fit of paranoia-driven anger.

At least, he figured, he wasn't so far gone to restrain himself from doing so and making a scene with all the other passengers. That was another silver lining he took. Another silver lining adding an imaginary layer to the thickness of the metal composing that narrow fuselage, stabilizing it so it could stay intact until landing.

With the ache in his hand he couldn't remember being there before getting on the plane, and sore, red marks on his knuckles, Glenn concluded he definitely had punched the wall in the lavatory, without being able to conjure up the exact image of doing it.

"That's going to hurt a bit," he whispered to himself under the din of the roaring engines and air the plane pushed itself through.

From that point forward, his fears stayed there, but they were oddly subdued. Tossing around in the back of his mind through a haze of exhaustion, until the seatbelt warning sounds and lights came back on for landing, and once again, Glenn found himself with a death grip on his seat until the plane finished braking on the runway, pitching everyone forward with the abrupt slowdown and sending the elevator flaps on the backs of the wings sticking straight up for an intense three seconds -visible through the window.

His panting was only slowing down to normal breaths just as the plane finished taxiing to the gate.

He'd made it; now what? Once he'd gotten past the claustrophobic process of deplaning, Glenn had to figure out where he was going. Was he getting a cab to Don's place? Was Don waiting for him somewhere, and if so, where? If Don was coming to get him, was he already on his way? Or did Glenn have to call him at the house to say he'd landed, then wait for him to come?

Moving slow with uncertainty, Glenn headed for the checkpoint separating the secure portion of the concourses from the public section of the terminal. Just past that checkpoint would be a line of phones on the wall, and there he could attempt to get an idea of where to go.

He ended up not needing those phones, because leaning on the wall just beside them was Don Dokken, waiting for him.

"I didn't realize you were going to be right in the terminal," declared Glenn, unsure what to say. Not only had Don gone to all the trouble to get him out here, but had been looking out to the extent of standing in the terminal for however long he'd been waiting.

"I figured you'd be calling for me or a cab, so this would be where you'd go first," explained Don. "You made it and came here, so that's a start. Are you managing?"

Glenn found himself biting his lip and swallowing hard. "I don't feel too good."

The massive, present uncertainty was gone, leaving Glenn nothing to focus on but the state of himself. Now that he was crashing off adrenaline keeping him up after the coke started wearing off, his head was already starting to ache. Behind his sunglasses, his eyelids drooped and twitched, and he was certain the puffy and sunken look around his eyes had only gotten worse with the cabin pressure. All he wanted was to be out of the public space of the airport and someplace quiet.

"Well, we'll start by getting the luggage, then we'll get you to the house so you can settle in." Don looked up thoughtfully. "And I'm working on producing with another project this week downtown, so that works out well. That way I'll be with you for the next few days in case you need anything while you get acclimated."

Without a question, he'd have ended up driving the hour and a half, three total a day, to take care of Glenn if he'd been working with John this week. Don didn't know the withdrawal process personally, but he knew the first week and the initial detox was especially going to be hell. Potentially for him as well as Glenn. But he figured if they were already going through hell, at least neither of them were going to be stuck in the same one they'd been sitting in.

Memories were flooding back to Glenn under his haze as he and Don walked through the terminal into the main part of the airport. The airport had been modified in a number of ways since that time, and Glenn wouldn't have been surprised if it had been expanded somewhere.

Still, he could see it in the 70s better than he could remember whatever experiences he'd had in the past decade. Running through the terminal with Tommy, and David coming up a few stride lengths behind, pleading them to wait up for him. An exasperated Jon Lord telling them to settle down, stay together, and to not make it any more difficult for security to keep potential trouble away from them. Ian Paice walking just behind Jon, grinning and quietly watching the whole thing with just as much caution as amusement. For a split second, before reality came back to him as he and Don reached the lineup of baggage carousels, Glenn felt like he'd returned to a long lost home.

Perhaps California really was the safest place for him to be.

The alarm sounded with a harsh, grinding noise and the flash of an orange strobe light on the ceiling as the carousels began to rotate and baggage began to come up from the ramp leading from the baggage processing on the lower floor 

Glenn shuddered, and every muscle in his body visibly tensed. He started to turn and run, freezing as his sight met all the people behind himself and Don in the way. With the skylight above and being at the proper angle, Don caught enough of a look through Glenn's sunglasses to see pure terror flashing through his eyes.

He'd seen that terror before. The look of unadulterated paranoia taking its stronghold. He'd seen it in three people -but particularly in one of them, and due to one of the other two, he'd been helpless to do anything about it even when he'd wanted to...

...except this time, he could do something. Without someone else jumping down his throat for it.

"Hey," said Don sternly, placing his hand on Glenn's shoulder in hopes of grounding him. "It's just the luggage coming up. The alarm's just there to warn that the track's about to start moving. They gotta make it jarring, because there are some idiots who can't read a sign that says not to lean or sit on it."

Glenn wasn't so far gone yet that he couldn't crack a smile at the sarcastic humor, but Don could see he was locking down fast, and if they didn't get the hell out of dodge soon, he was going to have real trouble. As Don pushed through to search for Glenn's suitcase, silently pleading for it to be one of the first out, Glenn came up behind him, all but glued to his side and shaking like a beaten dog.

"Is there anything on it that's easy to see from a distance?" Don asked, deciding to allow Glenn to stay against him if it would keep him calm until they could get away. 

"It's mostly black, but it has red panels on the sides, and where I have the tag on it, it has some old scraps of colored cloth tied to it for another sign."

"Alright, I'm looking -if you notice it coming out of the top before I find it coming around down here, you tell me. It might already be on." Don knew there was a chance that Glenn wouldn't be able to stay focused on it and might miss it, but giving him the distraction of looking for a moment was something he hoped would at least help calm him. 

Sure enough, Glenn was staring off with his eyes glazed over when Don looked a couple of minutes later, but he wasn't set to bolt.

"Here it is," said Don, snapping Glenn out of his thoughts as he turned back around just in time to catch Glenn's suitcase off the conveyor belt. "We've got this now, and you're not feeling good, so we're gonna catch the tram to the garage and get out of here."

The tram's timing was merciful. Just as Don and Glenn got to the loading station for it, ahead of most of the crowd, it was in sight, making its way over. It didn't take a full minute to reach the platform and open its doors, and the two ducked inside before the worst of the pushing and shoving started. It was a mere five minutes later that they arrived in the parking garage and Glenn had his luggage in the back of the car, sitting passenger as Don drove him to his home for however long he would be here -something uncertain to both.

The ride back was tense and silent. Glenn had pulled his glasses off now. The light hypersensitivity had worn off with his high, and everything seemed too dim as the outer bands of the approaching hurricane that was withdrawals were brushing him. He could see through the passenger side mirror out the window that he indeed looked like hell, and knew that it was confirming what Don had thought of him -even if he hadn't specifically said it aloud.

The street the house was on was an odd one. Classified as a tertiary road, but wider than most of its kind to allow uncommon street parking on both sides. It dead ended on its side of the secondary road which the house was on. There were three houses on either side of the street, and two in the back where it dead ended against houses along the perpendicular street running behind it. Two streets further away parallel to that one led to the beach, and the continuing of Don's street on the other side of the secondary dividing it lead away toward downtown.

The section was an unofficial cul de sac of sorts -not rounded and widened toward the back for easy turn space like the typical one, but secluded, to itself, and with only one way in and out. It was the kind of place that nobody drove into just to pass on through; they either ended up going there because they intended to stay there for awhile, or because they were lost. Glenn couldn't tell if there was one category to fit his situation more, or if he was simply in both.

The house Don had there was the last of the three on the right leading up to the back. It was tucked away in the corner of its lot, and though the walk leading up to it was shaded by a few low trees on the street and tall trees behind it, but the house itself was mainly open to the sun in the front. It was popping with more color around the front than any other house Glenn saw in the pocket of the street with a multitude of plants he already knew Don had put there.

Hidden away, but not too far away, and still with character. Exactly as Glenn hoped to see himself as if he wasn't too far gone to have his own character to him.

In that moment, on top of the terrifying feelings he had of being in a different place and going through all he had to get here, he had an overwhelming sense of relief that somebody still saw him for him, and that he wasn't alone anymore. Whether that would end up to be a good thing or a bad thing.

"So, what are you thinking?" asked Don, once he'd helped Glenn inside with his luggage.

Glenn looked around the living room from where he sat on the couch, taking in the surroundings through the darkness settling around him. It was comfortable and homey in a way. The presence of hanging plant baskets inside gave an illusion of the room being more open than the walls allowed -possibly something that would help when his claustrophobia kicked in.

But he had no idea what was coming for him and whether he could take it, regardless of what comforts he had.

"I really don't know."

Don sat down next to Glenn with a deep sigh.

"That's alright. Half the time these days I'm not sure what I really think either."

"Then at least you understand me for that part," Glenn murmured, "even if I can't even understand the rest of it."

"Stuck in a rut and unsure how to get out of it. That's as simple as we can put it," muttered Don.

Glenn gave a curt laugh.

"Possibly fused to it for all I know," he groaned. 

Don also gave a laugh at that.

Then, with a slow throb beginning between his eyes, Glenn winced, rubbed his forehead, and leaned over on the couch, beginning the search for comfort in a more familiar misery.

Sighing again, Don shifted over to allow Glenn to lean at a more comfortable angle, and felt the weight of acceptance to the contact. They were in this battle together.

"We'll figure it out."


	5. Sometimes it Just Sucks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hell week goes down in LA. Glenn goes through initial withdrawals, and Don deals with the set-up process in the studio and some foreboding surprises.

As Don suspected, he found out the next day that the first week was indeed going to be hell, and that in itself was an understatement. Though, not in the way he expected it would be.

He'd feared that between not feeling well and being in an unfamiliar house on top of Glenn's need for attention that in the best case scenario, Glenn would be somewhat like a full-grown toddler who would hardly give him a moment's peace during the withdrawals. Which was funnier to think of rather than deal with. Don feared that he would deal with plenty and be two steps from fed up by the end of the first two days. And that wasn't considering if Glenn went full out violent or paranoid.

In reality, Glenn all but slept through the first two days.

He was awake much of the time, but in no way could have been declared truly aware of the world from how deep he was snowed in under those initial withdrawals. They had rendered him in a state of shock.

Doing final preparation to set up the studio space downtown with equipment, Don had started the first day early in the morning, and he was constantly in and out of the house. Picking up old gear he had stored in the attic of the house, swapping some he'd brought out last week for an alternative he decided was better, finding out that some of the wires were shorted out now that he had the okay to plug equipment in and try it, and having to drive back to the house to see if he had something else to avoid studio costs with. It felt as though he'd spent more time in the car than in the studio or the house.

Glenn was curled up in the middle of the guest room bed all but one of the times Don checked on him when he came back to the house. The other time, at 4:00 when Don declared himself finished in the studio for the day, he found Glenn on the couch, cocooned in a throw blanket, hugging his knees to his chest and shivering with chills even though it was 78 degrees in the house.

"Had to piss... couldn't find my room when I got out of the loo," Glenn chattered when Don asked why he hadn't gone back to his bed.

Rolling his eyes, Don helped Glenn back to his room after checking that he didn't want to have extra blankets and stay there instead. Don did have to give it to him -Glenn was pretty lost if he hadn't meant to be there. The living room was on the opposite end of the hallway from the bedroom; he'd gone the wrong way entirely coming out of the bathroom. In any other case, he wouldn't have bought it, but Glenn's condition made not being able to orient himself more than believable.

Cocaine was a stimulant, and after constant hyper-stimulation and building up a tolerance, Glenn was helplessly under stimulated. His body temperature was low enough that he was pre-hypothermic. After Don helped Glenn and found him cold to the touch, a check with the thermometer confirmed his temperature barely above 95 degrees, and that was down from his low of 97 in the morning. 

His blood pressure was low, causing his heart to beat faster to compensate, which was a recipe for hyperventilation, vertigo, and headaches in addition to the nausea and weakness. The combination of lowered vitals left him deathly pale, and standing up only further dropped his blood pressure so he complained of "seeing stars" as Don guided him back to his room. Bright light hurt Glenn's eyes, so Don had all the overhead lights off, and most of the blinds down, save for in the kitchen where the jade plant was, and on the opposite side of the living room with the hanging baskets. However, Glenn's pupils were barely dilated, leaving him all but blinded in the dim lighting, stumbling into door frames as he walked.

Don had offered Glenn small doses of coffee and caffeinated tea throughout the day as he went in and out to keep his withdrawals above full-fledged systematic shock until his dopamine levels and receptors could have a chance to sort themselves out and relearn how to regulate on their own, but Glenn showed little interest. Feeling nauseated and not wanting to swallow much, he only took up the offer for tea a few times as means of warming up. He asked for a drink of water once Don was home to stay because his throat burned -which Don allowed him to have without ice. Glenn also asked for alcohol to ease his headache -which Don refused to give him, firmly stating that it would do his temperature no favors, and if he was too nauseated to eat, then he didn't need alcohol on an empty stomach to upset it further.

"You gotta work with me, Glenn," Don warned, coming back into the bedroom with hot tea and a couple of heat packs -rice filled sacks that went in the microwave. "If you don't and this temperature keeps getting worse, I'm going to have to take you to the hospital, and they're not going to be so calm about this."

"I don't want to go to the hospital-"

"Believe me; neither do I." Don didn't want to sit in a hospital waiting room thinking of how many times he'd done that with three other people, and he wasn't putting it beyond his mind to go straight there even with far better things to think about.

Don waited until Glenn got down half of the cup of tea and declared it enough, then tried to settle him in with the heat packs, tucking one around Glenn's shoulders and one across his chest

"Let's put this one here ...and this one here. Try and put your hands on this one over you so your wrists are on the heat." 

That was a trick he'd heard. Don doubted how well it worked, but cold water had always felt good on his wrists when he overheated from panic attacks. If it worked the other way around, it was worth a try at the rate they were working with. If it didn't, Don hoped it would at least pull circulation back to Glenn's ice-cold hands. Something had to start going right at some point.

He decided that Glenn's temperature was finished dropping, or it had worked, because when he returned a couple of hours after dinner to offer Glenn something to eat -which Glenn declined and Don ended up covering up and sticking in the fridge -his temperature was back up to 96.

It was holding steady as Don checked throughout the evening.

At 10:00, Don felt his energy begin to suffer the toll of the day. He went into the process of shutting everything down on the first floor so that he could retreat to his office and studio space upstairs for quiet time to himself, then to his room for bed. All the lights were off in the main rooms downstairs, leaving only the bathroom light, a lamp on the hallway side table shining in the dark, and a lamp in Glenn's room shining.

He went into the bedroom last, reset the trash can beside the bed to be in line as close to Glenn's sleeping position as possible, and checked that the plastic slip he'd put under it was still in place to cover the carpet. He wasn't trusting everything would make it in the trash if Glenn's nausea got out of hand, and he definitely wasn't trusting Glenn to jump up and run down the hall in time.

Leaning against the wall exhaustedly, he spoke to Glenn.

"I'm headed up for the night; I'm ready to drop."

Glenn rolled over from his pillow with a whimper and pushed his hair out of his eyes, then winced at the light from the nightstand lamp.

"Big light in here on or off?" asked Don.

"Come again?"

Don pointed to the nightstand lamp, and a spare floor lamp across the room that he had previously stashed in the room, no longer having a use for it in the living room. It was now providing a dim light across the room as a gentler alternative to the ceiling fan light.

"Do you want the big light on over there so you have some light when you turn your lamp here off for the night, or do you want me to turn that one off and have it completely dark."

"Leave it on," Glenn whispered. He'd still been well enough going to sleep the previous night not to think of it, but now he didn't feel ready to be in an unfamiliar room with everything dark.

"I've got lights on in the hall, but only up until the bathroom, so you can see how to get back if you get up. Trash can is still by the bed if you're going to get sick; better in it than out. You have water and tissues on the nightstand here, and if you need me, you can either shout for me or hit the radio on the alarm clock and dial the volume up loud," Don instructed, turning the nightstand lamp off. "Other than that, you're on your own until morning."

"Will you hear me or it all the way up there?" Glenn asked.

"I'm sleeping pretty light these days, so I'll probably hear whatever if you end up needing help. And before I go to bed, it's just you and me in this house right now; unless something wild happens, I'm going to suspect any noise coming from down here is you."

Glenn nodded and sighed, rolling back over to nestle in his pillow. Don reached over for the edge of the blankets and covered him back up.

"Goodnight, Glenn."

The second day was every bit as much of a drag, except that Glenn was more oriented with the house and could manage not to lose himself on the occasional event of getting up. His temperature was low, but more stable. Don didn't need to check in with Glenn at the house as often, which was helpful, as he spent more time in the studio now that everyone had arrived. 

Patt Fontaine and Terry Ilous, bassist and singer respectively, were specializing with the setup, plans for what they would be doing for the week so that Don knew what to expect, and introducing Don to their new guitarist, Tony Burnett. Mark Diglio was there too, but Don could sense by the way he was standing to the side of the room that there was more reason than experimenting with two guitarists for Tony being there, and that there was a chance they'd go back down from five to four by the end of the recording process.

He wanted it to stay at five for the sake of everyone, but he knew enough to see the events unfolding. Things that were all too familiar. He just hoped that if it did have to happen before the recordings were finished that it wouldn't get nasty.

Back at home, trying to encourage Glenn to eat dinner with his overwhelming symptoms ended with the same result as the day before -an untouched plate of food covered in plastic wrap and stuck in the fridge with the hope that Glenn would feel well enough to eat it later in the week before Don had to throw it out.

Heating up a can of soup earlier in the day when he'd briefly stopped in for an hour in the middle of the day had yielded more success, but Glenn still left half of the bowl's contents behind when he made it clear he wasn't going to stomach any more. He was drinking tea and water willingly throughout the day, so Don decided it was better than nothing and left it at that for the night, heading up even earlier to spend some time reading and trying some patterns on an acoustic guitar up in his office for a part John Norum was debating whether to adjust or not. 

Getting back to the process of putting his own tracks down rather than mixing someone else's was going to be interesting. It had been a couple of years for Don, and he hadn't expected the mixed feelings he now had.

_Do I dare get excited about it, or is that asking for trouble?_

He lay awake for two hours before he could fall asleep. Thinking on his question the whole time still left him without an answer as he drifted off.

The third day, things got interesting. Both in the studio and the house.

Don woke up to find that Glenn had come out of his severe low as his body tried to right itself. He'd come up hungry, so he'd helped himself to what Don left him in the fridge from the previous night, and he was stretched out on the couch in the living room next to the air conditioning unit, trying to cool off when Don came downstairs for the day.

He wasn't better yet; Don could tell seeing how he was twitchy and restless on the couch -constantly repositioning himself. He was out of shock, but still in withdrawals.

"When'd you get up?" he asked.

"I didn't look, but it was still dark outside," Glenn replied.

It was 8:30. The sun seemed to be rising around 6:00, so Don estimated Glenn had been up for at least three hours. He went about the morning routine, going into the kitchen for breakfast and opting to leave the dishes in the sink until after dinner to do all at once.

_...Thump! ...Thump!..._

Don heard a noise as he came out of the kitchen to go upstairs and finish getting ready. A look through the living room on his way to the stairs gave him the source.

Glenn had gotten ahold of a hand towel from the hallway bathroom. He'd twisted that towel into a tight roll, folded it in half to pull it taut, and was now whipping it against the leg of the coffee table. He glared ahead into space, looking nearly deranged, and Don wouldn't have been surprised if he was somewhere else in his mind far from pleasant.

"You alright?"

"I'm fine."

Glenn's voice was flatter than usual, disinterested and dark. Don took the cue and went upstairs without saying more, hoping Glenn would decide to stop beating the table up. 

When he came back, ready to leave, he was greeted with more noise.

_...THUMP! THUMP!..._

Those were angrier sounding hits -harder and faster.

At that, he changed his mind and decided not to argue about Glenn slinging something against the table. It wasn't worth risking a blowup that he was prone to when the table was solid and the towel had enough give that neither would damage each other. It also wasn't worth asking Glenn who or what had pissed in his cereal when he might not even know for sure himself. Or with the very chance that Glenn was upset with him for forcing him to go through the withdrawals.

Right, then. Time to get out of the house for the day, pronto. Don wrote down the phone number for the studio with the extension for his part of it, and left it on the corner of the table -the opposite corner from where Glenn was delivering his abuse.

"You've seen where the phone is; if you need anything, this'll get you to me or one of the guys, and then you can just ask for me."

He didn't leave any time for Glenn to get argumentative before leaving -seeing he didn't jump to ask a question was enough to safely assume there wasn't anything important left to say. All there was left to do was to get in the car, and to the studio.

There was one good side to production with XYZ, Don had found, and it was that before anything got recorded, there was always a collective rehearsing period they went through, making sure they had gotten out any last minute changes, or had alternatives considered that might work better depending on what final effects they might add. 

It gave Don a chance to settle in the studio for the day outside of their space, and hearing the music and different patterns bouncing back and forth put him in the right head space for whatever he'd end up doing with it.

Now that he was going through the same stage with John, it was inspiration for him too, thinking of riffs Billy and John had shown him as basic ideas to build on, and variations he could mention back to them for them to build a bridge or shift in sound off of that made room for potentially complex lyrics.

Which he had plenty of, if enough of the instrumentals would fit the ideas he had.

He flipped through his notebook he kept with him in case inspiration struck on the run. There was one riff John had shown him the other week; if they could just bring something different in, to a lighter sound -and there were a few ways Don could see it working that John could modify into something even better...

He was scribbling ideas down, unaware that nearly two hours had passed, when feedback came from down the hall, a staticky noise, and then silence. Eerie silence.

"For real?!"

That voice didn't sound too happy.

"Yeah, looks like it-"

"You gotta be kidding me, dude-"

"I only just found out too when we turned it on; don't jump on me...!"

_Uh-oh._ Don set his notebook down and listened.

"I don't know how it broke; I didn't know it was broken-"

"Well, it's broken, okay? It's broken! I don't care; it's broken, and now..."

_Guess I'd better go find out what broke._ Don reluctantly stood up and made his way around the hall with slow, quiet steps, continuing to listen. The arguing continued. It made him feel sick.

Just the fact that it made him feel sick irked him. What he heard was nothing compared to a lot of the fighting he'd been through. Why was he getting so wound up from it? Or, he questioned, if he should have felt sick hearing what he did, then how had he done it for seven years? Not just in the studio, but every day on buses and backstage where the peace of privacy to get away from it was nonexistent, going way back to the early days when the lineup wasn't solidified and they were all struggling to get by between gigs.

Having had the time away, Don wasn't sure how he'd dealt with it as long as he had, more than what he usually questioned himself on: whether he should have dealt with it or not.

Unlike the latter question, "how" didn't even yield a choice of yes or no for an answer.

"Paul, what's going on in here?" Don asked, seeing that he, as the drummer, was standing away from Tony, Mark, and Patt, who were standing around a practice amp, and away from Terry standing over them trying to see what had happened.

Before Paul could answer, Mark stepped away, shaking his head.

"Tony plugged in, struck a chord, and the amp blew."

"Yeah, but you told me it was set at a different frequency than it was-"

"Guys, _no more,"_ Patt shouted, holding his hands up. "No more!"

"We have others-" Terry started.

"Not here in town, we don't-"

_Fuck this, I gotta get out of here. I am not hanging around here while they do this._

"Alright, all of you, that's enough!" Don ordered, trying to disguise his anxiety as exasperation. "If you all can make do with the big amps and just not connect them up to the equipment or discuss other things you can do, I have spare practice amps at home -they're older, but they work; I can go get one to use in place of that one until you can get another sent up. Is there anything that you need from me right now, or will you manage for the next hour or so?"

"We're good, trust me," Paul groaned, "we're just having a _moment_. Not easy to explain-"

"Oh, trust me; I know what you mean. I'll be back." Don grabbed his keys and got the hell out of dodge.

Having been lucky enough to beat the early afternoon surge of traffic, it only took him twenty minutes to get back to the house, though he wasn't looking forward to the return trip. Until he opened the door, he wasn't sure if he was looking forward to going in the house either.

As it turned out, Glenn had come down from the morning's burst of anger, and he was subdued, leaning back on the couch in the fetal position, fresh out of the shower and sipping on a glass of orange juice. His hair was wet and combed out, and he was wearing clean track pants, his robe, a towel around his shoulders over that, and a blanket over his knees.

He didn't even have to turn around and see Don to know.

"Rough day in the studio?"

Don sighed. "We're struggling. You and I both, and all five of them too."

Puzzled, this time Glenn did look over. "I thought -if we talked about it at some point; I can't remember -you said there were only four?"

"Used to be," said Don. "Fifth guy is new. And I'm not sure if it'll be two on guitar for long."

Glenn's face fell. 

"Oh no."

"Oh, _yes,_ and neither of us need to have seen changes with overlap of replacements personally to know where that's probably gonna go."

"There are enough problems with being a replacement without being there beside who you replace; I don't want to know," Glenn groaned. "So did you end early, or has the show already-"

"Not exactly," Don cut in. "They did have an argument though, and I hope they're done with it by the time I get back. Or I might leave them on their own and just get back with where they've gotten tomorrow."

"What happened? Am I allowed to ask?"

Don chuckled, knowing full well that Glenn's additional question meant he was curious and was going to keep asking anyway.

"Well, it's not halfway in to the full scheduled time we have in a day, and we've already managed to blow an amp -luckily just a small practice one, but it's still an amp, and it was enough to get them going over it. I'm grabbing an old spare I've got -got a few old ones from the Tooth and Nail tour days that still work. They could make do, but I didn't want to have any part of their tussle. And I'm not losing anything valuable if one of those old amps go."

Don went upstairs and dropped down the ladder to the attic from the hallway ceiling. He climbed up, remembering for the umpteeth time in the past two weeks how much he hated non-walkup attics and how happy he was when he'd moved to find that he wouldn't have to deal with a drop-down all the time -especially after the hassle of moving with that drop-down.

After wrestling around up in the attic for ten minutes past some other things he'd stashed up there -made harder when the light up there decided to blow out less than a minute after he turned it on -Don found one of his old, spare amps, got it down, and emerged dusty and sneezing.

"Bless you," Glenn called weakly from downstairs as Don sneezed again, "and any further are implied."

"Well, thanks," said Don, coming down the stairs in an awkward gait, holding the amp and trying not to kick more dust up in his face.

He set it down in the front hallway at the base of the stairs, which was through an open doorway from the living room. As he set it down, a cloud of dust puffed out, and the air current coming down the hallway from the open windows and doors with the breeze was just right to swoop some of it into the living room -right at the level of the couch.

Glenn's eyes screwed up and he wheezed, paused, then wheezed again.

"Ah-ah!" Don pointed right at Glenn from across the room. "Oh, no you don't! Don't you dare!"

However, Glenn was too far into the windup process for the inhibition trick to work. He sneezed, and when he pulled his hand back, it was sprayed with red.

"Aw, fucking...!" he groaned. It wasn't a gusher, but he was bleeding, and for the next twelve hours, he'd be prone to more.

Don looked over to see the red smear from Glenn's nose down slightly past his lips.

_"Great."_ He turned through the living room into the kitchen, grabbed a paper towel from over the sink, and held it out toward Glenn. 

"Alright, you start trying to stop it with this. Lean over the table so you don't get blood on the couch or down your throat; I'll go get tissues. Unless you'd rather go in the bathroom to stop it. Just do me a favor and try not to get your bloody hands around the place."

Afraid to stand up from the couch without using his hands to push up and leaving prints, Glenn leaned forward over the coffee table. A few red drops escaped the paper towel and ended up on the surface.

Don set a tissue box on the table and and handed over another paper towel; this one was wet and Glenn used it to clean the blood of his hands.

"Don't worry about the table; as long as it's not on the carpet or the couch it'll wipe right up."

"Okay," Glenn spoke, forcing an extra nasally tone while pinching his nose, then springing a weak grin.

"Nice," said Don with a smirk.

"Nothing like a nice bleeder," Glenn spoke nasally again. It was almost the normal, impish side to his humor that Don had seen in the past, and he was happy to see it out.

"You dizzy?" he asked after a few moments when the flow had stopped.

Glenn shook his head.

"You sure?"

"I'm not any more dizzy than I was to begin with, and that's nothing like yesterday."

"Okay." As long as Glenn's lowered blood pressure wasn't dropping too much further, Don had a good feeling he'd be alright. "Anything else feel funny? Didn't look too bad."

"Oh, that was hardly anything." Glenn smiled and winked.

"I thought so," said Don. "Alright then, as long as you feel okay, we're not going to worry about that. I'll just get this stuff here cleaned up, and unless you start feeling bad or end up bleeding again, we're done. And you know what they say about blowing your nose this soon afterward. No-go."

A few minutes later, Don came back from washing his hands and putting a bottle of spray cleaner away. The table was wiped up, and all the bloody paper towels and tissues were in the liner of the bathroom trashcan. 

"Thanks for not making a big fuss," said Glenn.

Don sighed. "Glenn, let me tell you -I've seen plenty of nosebleeds in my time on the road. From every reason from backstage brawls to cocaine. I've seen far worse."

He turned back to the amp.

"Alright, I'm getting this thing outside before we have more trouble, not including if you get up to it on your own. And if I'm home before five, you'll know something went down, whether I'm going to tell you what it was or not!"

Glenn was laughing as Don scooped a trash bag over the amp to get it outside without kicking up another dust storm.

Despite the middle of the day's calm, Don had heard plenty of warning from being on a scene where cocaine was an issue everywhere that withdrawals after extensive use weren't always a linear process in terms of getting better. He knew better than to get his hopes up that Glenn was done struggling this soon -that storm wasn't over for sure.

The calm lasted through dinner time, and a fair portion of the evening. Though with a tired look about him, not running at full energy, Glenn continued to act as his normal self. He was conversational, witty, and following the incident earlier in the day, had to tell Don the story of what had happened when he'd had a more serious nosebleed with David Coverdale, and the resulting freakout. Glenn's imitation of David's accent and gestures had Don in stitches at the table.

"Now you know what I meant by 'not making a big fuss' over it!" Glenn quipped.

Don shook his head after recovering from a hard laugh. "Yes I do. But I feel for him!" He could sympathize with David for some more serious situations he'd seen with his bandmates that had indeed led to some levels of panic -and an unfortunate amount of fighting too.

When the sun began to get down on the horizon, Don went outside to get the plants watered, then came back inside and gathered up the bags from the kitchen and bathroom trash cans so he could put everything out for the weekly pickup coming the next day. 

Everything was settled, and Don had just given the slightest thought of it being a satisfying day despite the small hiccup in the studio. 

That was exactly when Glenn started to melt down again.

The headache came first, along with complaints of not feeling well. Then the jitters started to settle on top of the weakness. It was his body trying to right itself and it's chemical levels, overcompensating each time it tried to correct its imbalance. Whether it was the withdrawals itself, or as Don suspected, Glenn fearing he would be struck down and suffering as he'd been the two days prior, the paranoia set in, and trouble descended upon the house.

Don watched the pacing up and down the hall with caution from the living room while he returned a phone call he'd missed from Peter Baltes. Peter had some questions on an instrumental part that he and John had a disagreement with the phrasing for. 

While Don gave his insight from what Peter played over the phone, he watched Glenn sit down on the couch he'd been camped on all day, grabbing the blanket and pulling it taut around himself. He took quick glances behind himself every few seconds as though he expected something dangerous to be there.

It was when Don got off the phone that Glenn threw the blanket off as though it were the very thing attacking him, charged down the hall, came back shaking and panting, and looked right at Don.

"I can't do this," said Glenn. His eyes were frantic. "I don't know what I can do, but I can't do this-"

Don felt a jolt through his chest. 

_Oh boy, here we go. Not again..._ He'd been doing so well keeping the palpitations under control too. So much for that between this and the fun in the studio today.

"Glenn," he warned, sounding pained. He stood up and took a few cautious steps toward Glenn.

"Please; Don I can't; make it stop-"

"Yes, you can." Don stood still and crossed his arms over his chest to keep a semblance of calm. "I don't want to argue over this Glenn, but if I have to, I will. You can."

"I really can't!"

_"Glenn."_ Don made the mistake of standing in the foyer just outside the living room doorway when he said it, and the relative emptiness of the walls going up the stairs caused it to echo as if four different voices had said it -Don, and three others.

Don shuddered, and Glenn jumped as though he'd been electrocuted, coming back down with the same manic look he'd had in the morning.

_Damn it, THAT helped a lot!_ Don inwardly groaned.

Glenn picked up the TV remote from the coffee table, turned in the opposite direction from Don, and threw it down to the floor at an angle, hard. It smacked down with a loud clack, and the little door to the battery compartment, as well as the batteries, went shooting out across the room. With the house being otherwise quiet, the impact made a resounding noise that seemed to shock the air, then all fell silent.

Inhaling slowly and noisily through his nose to stay calm, Don walked past Glenn and bent down to pick up the remote, the batteries, and the back piece. He exhaled as he looked over the pieces, examining them to see that nothing was broken -just popped out of place.

Glenn stood in place, watching and shivering, gulping when Don turned to look right at him. It seemed he'd thrown his frantic and violent energy out of himself along with the remote

"I'm going to put this back, and if you could settle down, I'd really appreciate it," Don stated, not a hint of any emotion in his voice. Fast breathing and the look in his eyes were the only outward signs of his internal panic.

He'd seen plenty violent cocaine freak outs far worse than this -whether from withdrawal or being overly-high, and he felt blessed to not have seen as many from his own bandmates as he'd seen from those with other bands they knew, especially with where things headed toward the end. He also knew enough that when things that didn't belong in the air started flying, it was best to step away, keep quiet, and let it fizzle out in its own rather than fighting it. Best for him as well as everyone else when he wanted no part of it.

Glenn shrank back down on the couch, watching fearfully as the rest of the crash process dragged out, leaving him feeling weaker with each passing moment.

Don sat on the other couch, put the remote back together, leaned back and closed his eyes until his heart rate and breathing resumed normal paces, then spoke quietly.

"You went through two days of shock and hell and came out on the other side, Glenn. It's not going to be easy right away, but do you seriously want to throw that progress away right after getting that far? After going through all that misery and not being able to function to go back to another state of not being able to function? Because if you do, that's pretty wasteful."

Glenn stayed silent, not moving or showing any sign of an aggressive response. Don stood up, deciding it was safe.

"Think you can get back to your room alright, or do you want to stay here?"

"I'll manage," said Glenn, not looking up from the floor, feeling helplessly intimidated by everything around him.

"Alright then you know how to get me if you need anything." Don switched off the lights in the kitchen, leaving only a lamp on in the living room in addition to the ones he'd been leaving on for Glenn, then he went upstairs without the exchange of another word.

Glenn made his way to his room for the night, knowing Don was gone until morning by his own doing.

The next day -the fourth day -was the worst.

Having managed to fall asleep early for once hadn't given Don any benefit. He'd woken up at five in the morning instead, and laying in bed until the alarm went off at 8:00 didn't even allow him to reach a light doze.

Glenn woke up sick again, but without the shock to numb the extent of his symptoms. He wasn't vaguely aware of a headache and nausea underneath being too cold and fuzzy-headed to function; rather, it was all he was aware of now. That in addition to how sore he was from the muscle spasms when he'd come out of shock. The discomfort made it impossible to get comfortable in the bed once he was awake, so he found himself crawling to camp out on the couch around 7:00.

Far worse than the physical pain was having a clear enough mind for the physical distress to play on his mental state. Tension still hung in the air from the previous night, which became painfully obvious when Don came downstairs. There was little exchange between himself and Don as the latter got ready to leave for the studio. Only a question to see that he was okay, and then warning before heading out broke the silence.

Glenn found himself utterly despondent, turning weepy at every other thought that crossed his mind once Don's car pulled away from the house. He wanted someone to sit down and talk with him. He wanted physical contact. He wanted someone to comfort him, and he wasn't getting much better than hugging a pillow until Don got home. If there wasn't still an icy wall of silence by then.

He wanted noise in the house aside from the local news on the TV. The radio in the bedroom helped some, but Glenn always felt music was more enjoyable to listen to with someone else to share it with, rather than using it to liven up being home alone. It wasn't enough for him now.

He came to the conclusion that he was lonely, and had nothing numbing him to it. The same reason why all his attempts in Atlanta hadn't worked -he couldn't deal with how sick he felt alone.

Today, he felt alone again.

Over the course of the late morning, his soreness progressed into muscle cramps and twitching again, and with weakness rather than the lift of energy, they just further wore on him.

It was in the early afternoon as Glenn's twitching hit its peak and left him in full misery that his boxes of extra belongings arrived. And the UPS man rang the doorbell and ran away so that he had to wrestle them up the doorsteps, over the stoop, and in the front hall by the door just out of the swing path. That was as far as he managed to get them, so there they had to stay until Don could help him.

There was only one thing out of them that Glenn wanted enough to go digging for -and he'd put it on the top of the box that had items he'd need sooner as identification.

He took a pair of scissors to the boxes in the hallway, struggling with shaking hands to cut them open, just to see which was which. At the top of the priority box, over everything else, was a knit scarf -half black, half white, and long enough to hang at his knees if he simply draped it over his neck. It was one of the few clothing items he still had from the 70s.

Glenn pulled the scarf out of the box, leaving one cardboard flap pushed open on the one he needed to unpack first. He crawled back to the couch and put the scarf around his shoulders. His remaining withdrawal chills didn't warrant it, but he wanted it there and couldn't have cared less how hot or cold it was. It was comfort. Something familiar.

At first it was, until the emptiness of the house got back to him.

_This scarf's a bit lonely to wear by myself,_ he couldn't help thinking.

_Well, you know you don't have to wear it by yourself, right?_

"Tommy?"

_You didn't think I wouldn't be here in California, did ya?_

"You and this place. Of course you would, but I haven't..."

_I was waiting for you to turn lucid and start looking for me, but I've been here the whole time. I'm here; see me? You can't physically, but just imagine -I'm sitting up on the fence outside watching down over you through the window. I look just like I did the last time we were here together too. Look, I'm waving to you right now; I'm the one with the colored hair who hasn't slept in three nights!_

"Been watching over me while I went through it, have you?"

_Been worried sick is more like it. That first day was brutal, Glenn._

"Tommy, shame on you." Glenn felt playful and serious at the same time, picking up the end of his scarf and swiping his welled-up eyes before they could overflow. "You don't need to worry yourself sick when I've been there before and not made it through."

_My choice. I don't have to sleep every night now anyway. And shame on you for scaring me!_

Glenn snorted. 

_You got past the shock period this time. That's further than you got in Atlanta without getting ahold of something._

"I didn't think I'd be back here so soon, but I think I wanted to and didn't realize it. Well, I did, but not until I was already clean, whenever the hell that's to happen."

_Well, hang with it if you can and want. I wish it weren't as rough as it is. I don't like seeing you in so much pain._

Glenn bunched up the ends of his scarf and folded them between his cheek and the pillow.

"I feel a little better, but could we talk about something else that's more fun? You mentioned your colors -did you redo it?"

_I put all the streaks back in my hair. Teal, red, yellow, and purple. So it's just like we were here the whole time. Besides, I was getting a little tired of the black and red I had when you did Sabbath._

"I never said you had to do that either."

_I did have a feeling you would like it if I did; it fit in more with their scene. But I wouldn't do it for you if I didn't want to do it in the first place._

Typical Tommy Bolin. Glenn nodded and found himself tearing up again.

"That's sweet."

_Anything you want to talk about? Something funny, or not...?_

Glenn felt his eyelids drooping as the unbearable loneliness edged off enough that he had internal comfort.

"I can't think of anything even though I want to. And this isn't exciting for you; we can't do something fun..."

_Glenn, don't say that. We can later when you can. I'll stay with you if you want and just hang out. That's good enough._

"Stay, Tommy?"

_Whenever you ask for me. I always stay. Right here..._

Glenn wasn't aware of it, but at some point, he fell asleep on the couch. He woke up to the sound of Don arriving home after a miserable day of his own.

Don had come down sick over the course of the day, which he'd sat through with nothing to do in the studio aside from looking over his notes for next week with John.

Terry was already sick when he arrived in the morning. Don sent him home. As a singer himself, he knew the struggle to sing while sick all too well. He didn't have it in him to force Terry to do the vocal tracks when they could wait.

Yesterday's blowup had led to Tony and Mark rearranging a lot of the instrumentals with Patt helping to iron them out. They'd put down a few demo tracks of what they'd formed on the recorder for Don to work with by the end of the day, and Paul had put down a few drum tracks as he was also coming down sick through the day. Nobody felt up to staying late to try putting them together, so that ended the session.

Now, after being greeted in the front hallway by the UPS boxes, Don stood leaning against the living room doorway with chills and a stuffy nose. He looked exactly as he was: sick, drained, and bored to tears.

Glenn looked up from the couch, tangled up in a throw blanket and his scarf. His eyes were heavy with coming out of sleep, rimmed in red, and sunken in dark circles. He was pale again, and his hair was a mess again from restless tossing and turning in the battle to get comfortable. As a whole, he looked like he'd been hit by a bus.

"Not an easy day, I take it?" Don asked, though he phrased it more like a statement.

"Not at all," Glenn whimpered.

"I can say the same."

"What happened this time?" Curiosity got the better of Glenn. He sat up too quickly, and curiosity was determined to kill the cat this time.

The world spun out of control, Glenn's shoulders hitched as he fell back over on the couch, he felt his throat grow tight and spasm, his jaws quivered, and with that he barely had enough time to stick his head over the edge with safe distance to be violently ill. He tried to get to the trash can beside the couch, but the first heave mostly missed.

Sometime during the process, Don had come up beside him. Glenn felt fingers pulling his hair back away from his face and attempting to tuck it behind his ear. It was at the awkward length of growth where it was just long enough to be in the danger zone, but difficult to pull back. 

Then he felt Don's hand come down on his back, warm against his chilled body, grounding him after a full day in the empty house. Glenn shivered as he tried to catch his breath, still hanging over the edge and waiting to make sure he'd finished.

"Trash can blues," muttered Don. "No fun at all."

Feeling the pitching of his stomach stop, Glenn used what remaining energy he had to wipe his nose and mouth with a tissue and sank down against the couch pillow, muttering indistinguishable profanities, his eyes, nose, and throat all burning at the same time.

"No use in making a big deal," Don groaned. "We'll get this cleaned up and then get rid of it. That's why there's plastic on the floor."

He was thankful he'd put it down around the trash can. Cleaning it up as is wasn't anywhere on the list of things Don wanted to do, but he didn't have to get it up off the floor, or worse, out of the bedroom carpet. He just had to gather up the plastic and get rid of it.

One pair of disposable gloves and a trash bag later, the mess on the floor was picked up and gone, and the open window and the ceiling fan were working to clear the air. The only physical evidence left was Glenn's visible discomfort and depression, which Don still had to assess, and it wouldn't be as simple.

"Just so you know, I'm sick," he warned, sitting to the opposite end of the couch. "You're already in withdrawal; you don't need to get sick on top of it, so you might want to stay back."

He knew of Glenn's affinity for physical contact and had a feeling he would be clingy after feeling so sick. Apparently he was. After Don's warning, Glenn shifted over on the couch to be closer without a care in the world.

"I don't think it should make much difference," Glenn whispered, leaning back on the couch and holding his head.

Fair. Feeling bad enough that it didn't matter was a possibility too. Don let it drop. He didn't mind physical contact either as long as it was from somebody he knew well enough, and aside from John Norum, Glenn was one of the few people Don had consistently talked with over the past couple of years. It had been a rough day, he wasn't feeling well, and he wasn't averse to Glenn getting closer.

It was when he was sick that he couldn't block out just how much he missed one of his three former bandmates who would look out for him in those times on the road. Often with physical comfort that he missed more than ever this week.

_Stop thinking about that; I don't want to,_ Don scolded himself, turning his thoughts back to Glenn's question.

"I can tell you what happened with my guys today a bit later, but it wasn't anything exciting. I want you to tell me. What happened here?" It seemed like such an ordinary, boring question as Don asked it, especially placed outside of the context of withdrawals.

"Not been feeling well at all. That's the only time I've puked though."

"Just weakness, or anything new?"

"Twitchy, muscle spasms..." Glenn trailed off. "Kind of hurts after they went off hard last night."

"You want anything for that?" Don offered. "Ibuprofen, or-"

"No." Glenn shook his head, wincing and going back down on the pillow as it made his head spin again. "UPS came with the boxes. Probably the most different thing of the day. Except they rang the door and ran like hell before I could get to it. And left the boxes for me to try pulling up the steps and inside by myself."

"They left the boxes at the _bottom_ of the steps?"

"Where the walkway meets them."

"Oh for crying out loud, that's a level of it I haven't seen from them yet," Don grumbled. "The stoop here isn't big like a porch, but there's room for boxes, that's stupid to leave it down on the wall where someone could have..." 

He trailed off. "I'm sorry Glenn. When you feel up to unpacking them, I'll help if you need it. But honestly, how are you? Not just relative to the shock, but in general. So I know if there's anything that'll help you."

"Well, I do feel a tad better now in some ways," Glenn started. "I'm not sure how to honestly answer this -I can think straighter; I know what's going on around me and the lights don't hurt anymore. But some of it's harder out of the shock -you know, I knew it hurt and I felt sick, but not like this."

"Uh-huh." Don knew that all too well. Not from drugs, but elsewhere. Shock after anxiety attacks delaying when he had to sort out what had started it to begin with. The shock he sat in for a week when everything ended, before the reality of it set in.

He saw shock as a protective state that the body shut into when the stress and pain was too much to take. The shock itself was hell and had damage of its own to inflict, but there was another world of hurt outside of it to go through.

Now Glenn was going through that world of hurt. The same one Don still stood in.

"I want to keep pushing on and to actually get clean this time, and I don't want to lose how far I've gotten -I'm telling the truth when I say this, Don-"

"I know you are, Glenn. You think I could have gotten you on that plane out here if you didn't want to get better?"

Don felt his heart start to beat faster, seeing the panic settle in on Glenn without the violent energy of the previous night. His pupils were widening, his body was tensing up, his twitching was getting stronger, and wetness stood on his lower eyelids.

"It's scary. The real problem is inside me, not physical. I want to do it, I'm trying, and I know it's what I need to do..."

A cramp seized Glenn's shoulders so hard that they jerked back, and the motion irritated his headache, leaving him whimpering, holding his head, and leaning against Don for comfort.

"Everything hurts," he moaned, swallowing hard and closing his eyes to hold the tears back. "Everything hurts, and I'm not okay!"

Don felt his thumping heart drop like a stone.

"I get that. Not for your same reasons, but I know what you're saying," he sighed, "and sometimes it sucks." 

Glenn leaned in even further, and Don awkwardly lifted his arm out from under him to let him in against his side. He turned sideways on the couch and held Glenn in a loose hug. Slowly, Glenn's twitching slowed, and Don felt the beating of his heart settle as they leaned together.

"Sometimes it just sucks."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My physiology notes helped me to figure out Glenn's withdrawal symptoms, based on his body having built a tolerance (therefore, having deactivated dopamine receptors to compensate for the increased release that cocaine gives)... the joy of being a pre-vet student and having use for my course material in other places (and not being the only one on the struggle bus with it)! There are a few pictures to tell which scarf Glenn had sent over -and Tommy appears again as his guardian angel/ghost figure. There are memes about UPS and the doorbell; I couldn't resist. As for Don, he might be missing a certain drummer.


	6. Paranoid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day five follows the wrath of day four. As Glenn experiences a lift in some of his physical symptoms and the return of boredom and his fears, Don experiences a lift in some mental blocks and the return of thoughts that are difficult to face. They attempt to ride it out together, and find some improvement to be had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally starting to add in some fluff to lighten this up. This chapter and the next are connected, as both are tied to the fifth day.

The passage of the night going into the fifth day left some things better, some things worse, but mostly in the same place.

Blaring from the alarm clock woke Don up, and he was coughing and congested the moment he was conscious. Conscious to the world, and as the coughing settled, conscious to just how exhausted he felt -physically as well as mentally. Dragging himself out of bed took sheer force of will.

He didn't understand how he could be so tired having fallen asleep early and slept through the night -so much more tired than he had been yesterday on less sleep than usual. It wasn't logical. It wasn't right. At least not by normal standards of what people considered right, and with everything he'd seen, Don had plenty of doubt as to if any of what was considered "right" actually was.

Glenn was still asleep when Don checked on him. As of the end of the previous evening, he was back in his room, comforted in bed by his scarf and a pillow he'd had sent in one of his boxes -both of which now sat in the corner of the room, still mostly full.

A quick touch to his forehead told Don his temperature wasn't high or low enough for concern, and when that didn't wake Glenn up or provoke any subconscious movements of discomfort, Don didn't have it in him to make him wake up for the thermometer.

"So you're still tired out but good from yesterday too," Don muttered under the droning of the air conditioner. "That's fine. Get some more rest; I wish I could."

As Don looked down on Glenn sleeping peacefully, having knocked half the blankets over the side of the bed in his sleep, his mind drifted to the effects of the cocaine in Dokken's last days. Trying to block those images out wasn't enough to keep them out now. He saw Glenn's struggle in front of him fading into what he had seen with Jeff Pilson.

_Jeff._ The name felt odd in Don's mind with how long he'd pushed it back under the ashes of the band's destruction until he could see every image of those last days without connecting a name to anyone if he didn't try to.

Jeff. The sweet, hyper, enthusiastic kid from Indiana who they had found right when they were on the line of make it or break it and needed a bass player to have any chance of making it.

Conversations in passing with friends from other bands they'd crossed paths with had spread rumors to Don that Jeff had gotten clean of the coke by now and was away from the others and producing other projects and starting his own -and potentially on offer to work with Ronnie James Dio. 

He wondered how Jeff had taken the process of detoxing with how deep in he'd been at the end of Dokken. Jeff was up to his shoulders in the snow, and so delicate beneath the sheer level of energy he had holding him up -far more delicate than Glenn. 

Don knew Jeff wouldn't last as long as Glenn had managed to if he stayed on that path. He'd fallen under fast, and some of his bouts of paranoia were just as bad as Glenn's were now, spare for violent bouts that Don felt himself blessed to have only seen the small amount of he had.

The images in his mind of Jeff going through what he'd seen Glenn go through hurt Don. Terrified of every sound and movement in the airport. Stumbling through door frames and getting lost on a narrow hallway of an average-sized house. Slipping into shock and shivering with hypothermia. Convulsing with muscle spasms, sick to his stomach, and holding his head in agony. It all hurt to imagine when he'd seen Jeff like the little brother he'd always wanted and never would have.

But Jeff had betrayed him. Maybe he hadn't meant to with how hard a hold the coke had on him, but he'd been ungrateful, and he'd betrayed him in ways Don wasn't sure Jeff was even aware he had. And that was why Don knew he couldn't be the one to help Jeff.

Now Don had Glenn with him, and though he saw Glenn quite differently from Jeff, he just hoped they could get through this -enough to get Glenn on the right track to getting clean permanently if he couldn't get entirely clean in however long they'd be together.

He didn't have the power to help Jeff, but he did have the power to help Glenn.

Breaking out of his thoughts and shaking them off, Don pulled the wayward blankets back in place over the bed before turning to leave.

After an hour in the studio, Don had been given good news and bad news he'd had to decode himself.

The good news was Tony and Mark were getting along today, and there had been no arguing all day.

The bad news? Nobody could stay focused for more than twenty minutes at a time. The two of them kept playing around, and Terry and Paul were worse. Don might have been amused by it on an ordinary day and on a good week. He might have laughed it off, or even joined in on playing around the studio.

Being under the weather today, and having the kind of hell week it was, Don wasn't feeling up to any of it now.

_This should not be this difficult,_ he groaned to himself. This time, he wasn't even the main producer. He was helping set up the demo tapes and help everyone figure out how they could recreate the effects they wanted while actually playing the tracks when they went to upper-level production for the actual recordings, because they wanted to do the official recordings live in another studio for a raw sound. But no combinations of pedals and amp settings were going to be figured out until somebody actually got their lines down already and worked with him without up and leaving in the middle of discussion.

After two hours, as Mark went running out of the recording booth trying to sneak up and jump-scare Terry in the hall, Don leaned back in his chair at the mixing board, put the heels of his hands to his face, and exhaled as heavily as he could with a stuffed nose.

Terry yelped shrilly from the other room, and a moment later, Mark came back in laughing.

Don shook his head and sat back up.

"I'm gonna go _home."_

It was a threat, but his voice sounded less threatening than it did mournful, especially through the muffle of the tissue he had to grab right after his nasal sigh.

"What's wrong with you, Don? Usually you're fun, but this week you're being a spoil-sport," Mark groaned, going back to his booth and plugging his guitar back in.

Don sighed again. That stung, even though he knew Mark hadn't meant it that harshly, or might have even been joking considering he knew Don was sick. That was the consequence of what he'd come from, always being talked of to his face and behind his back by his own bandmates. He had to logically convince himself it wasn't meant that way.

Part of Mark's complaint was his own doing, he knew. He'd been the party animal leader during his first session with XYZ, getting drunk almost every night, and entirely wasted at least twice a week. That had lasted for those five months as means of coping with what was still so raw, blocking out the anxiety of what could go wrong and what he had to do. 

In the end, it hadn't done him any favors. Last summer he'd had to deal with learning how to cope without getting drunk in addition to his anxiety. He thought he'd gotten it somewhat controlled, but this week was trying him, and he had nothing to do about it other than riding it out, as with any hell week.

Sometimes having fun and some harmless playing around in the studio was the answer on a hell week, but he'd already concluded an hour ago that it wasn't what he needed now.

A clatter came in the hallway as a table got knocked down. Two seconds later, two rolling chairs came barreling down the hall, knocking into the walls. Paul lay with his stomach across the seat of one, arms stretched out in front of him, struggling to hold his legs in the air out behind him, and a still-sniffling Terry was in the same position across the other. Now they were drag racing chairs down the hallway.

"Keep playing around and I'm gonna go home," Don threatened again. "You think I'm bluffing and I'm not. I'm gonna go home. Put the table back up out there and pull it together."

Another problem was that Patt, the down to earth one, wasn't with them today. Don had come in to receive a phone call from him after he'd already called the house too late to catch Don before he'd left. He wasn't having any better of a time either.

Patt was stranded at home, having woken up to a car that refused to run in reverse, leaving it trapped in the driveway, and with a bright red stain of transmission fluid beneath it on the ground. The meaning of which was anything but good. From the time he'd gotten ahold of Don to break the bad news, he'd been dealing with calls to the service department and Triple A to see about getting it fixed -and towed to get fixed since it wasn't going anywhere.

The irony. Patt was stuck at home when he wanted to be in the studio. Don was stuck in the studio when he wanted to be at home, though he might not have been as upset with being stuck at the studio if Patt weren't stuck at home.

In his best attempt to not have a situation that would be Patt's department to diffuse, Don had put Tony and Mark to work recording their demo guitar parts right away, no questions asked. Paul had put down two drum tracks, and they could work with those and try whatever they wanted, ask to try different effects on them -as long as they didn't argue over each other's lines. They could decide between lines later. As long as they finally made some progress after the past couple of tedious days.

Paul and Terry didn't have much to do until the guitar lines were down, so they had freedom to hang out and do what they wanted. Which was all fun and games... until their fun and games had distracted Tony and Mark, and led to the current situation of running around and getting nothing done -or, in Mark's case, he'd just run out on Don _again_ when they had been discussing different ways he could get the sound live that Don had applied to the track on the mixing board.

The phone rang. A glance at the number told Don it was coming from the house.

"Glenn, what is it?" Don answered.

"Don," Glenn spoke. His voice was low and tiny, and he sounded terrified. Something had either spooked him, or he'd woken up feeling miserable enough to seek comfort over the phone.

"What is it?"

"Don, there's this thing in the living room on the side table -it keeps flashing red, and I don't know what it is, but I don't like it. It looks dangerous."

Don squinted.

_"What?"_ It was beyond him what Glenn was talking about.

"I don't know what it is -it keeps flashing; it's creeping me out-"

"Well, I don't know what you're describing to me, but I don't have anything in the living room that's going to be dangerous to you. If it's that bad for you and you don't want to be in there with whatever it is, you can hang out in your room or in the kitchen. Or in the dining room -the chairs in there aren't as comfortable though, so I wouldn't recommend that."

Glenn audibly gulped. "How soon are you coming home?"

"You know, with the kind of day we're having, we might end or break early. If we do, I'll come check it out, but I'm not stopping this just for that."

A few minutes after getting off the phone with Glenn, Tony came in the room with Don, asking about what they could do with the sound on one of the guitar lines. As Mark was still in for now, he had to have some say too, so Don called him in, noticing he had disappeared from sight again.

"Is he in the other room with Terry and Paul?"

"Not to my knowledge; he just said he was going down the hall," said Tony. "I'll check."

He left, then returned, announcing that Mark was not with them.

Don descended in a coughing fit. When it passed, he reached over for his mug and took a big swig of coffee to clear his throat, being too tired to care if coffee was the best thing to be drinking while sick.

He heard the walk-in hall closet door click open and shut. _Maybe..._

"Mark, where are you?"

A paper airplane from a magazine went sailing past the doorway out in the hall.

"That's it." Don got up and grabbed his keys.

"Where are you going?" asked Tony, looking shocked.

_"Home._ Maybe I'll be back in a bit today, and maybe I won't, but you're on your own for now, because I'm going home. And none of you can complain either, because I only said I would a hundred times." If Glenn's fear was over something ridiculous, Don didn't care; he was going home to diffuse it. He'd be backing up his word with an extra excuse, and he could say he was going home for Glenn rather than being a "spoil-sport."

The drive home wasn't enough to diffuse Don's frustration, because he pulled the front door closed a little too forcefully behind him, causing Glenn to jump out of his chair in the kitchen.

"Sorry, Glenn, you alright?"

"I didn't think you were coming this soon."

"Oh, I'll be going back, but I needed a break. They're gonna drive me crazy today," grumbled Don, turning into the living room. "Alright, what is this thing in here that's driving _you_ crazy?"

"Up there on the sideboard, flashing red," Glenn instructed, still hanging back in the kitchen doorway.

"You mean _this?"_ Don picked up the little caller ID apparatus, which was indeed flashing red with the missed call signal.

"You're going to pick it up like that?!"

"Glenn," Don sighed. He was right between exasperation and laughter, and though laughter was the option that would leave him feeling better, he didn't know if it was what Glenn needed when he was so upset already. Best efforts not to aside, he couldn't keep from smirking.

"What's funny then?" Glenn demanded.

"Glenn, this is the caller ID reader for the phone," said Don. "Not anything dangerous; not sure what you saw it as, but it's not anything I would suspect you did. Not a bomb. Not anything spying on you. Not anything that's even aware of you being here. It's just part of the phone. I have a few at home too."

Glenn looked bewildered, unsure whether to be skeptical or embarrassed, and crept forward to take a closer look.

"See?" Don held up his phone notepad and the small box, pointing to two identical numbers across the page and the ID reader's digits. "This number here -you probably saw when Patt called after I left trying to tell me he wasn't going to make it in today. He's having trouble with his car."

Glenn blushed, sighed, and shook his head, hiding his face in his hands, retreating to the couch.

Don chuckled. "No worries. I guess if I didn't know what it was it would look a little eerie." He put the box and the notebook back. "But you know what it is now. Speaking of Patt, I should call him before I go back and see if he's got any word on his car and what we're dealing with tomorrow."

Glenn stayed quiet until Don went upstairs to use the phone in his room and was away.

_Glenn? Ha! You oughta have seen the look on your face, and on Don's..._

"Oh, so you think that's funny too, don't you?"

_Aww, Glenn! Don't tell me you've forgotten how to laugh at yourself. That was one of the things about you I like the most!_

Glenn sighed. A moment later, his mouth curled, and the start of a laugh caught his breathing.

"Alright, Tommy, I admit it. That was pretty funny. Now that I know what it is!"

_That's still nowhere near as funny as when you told me about that time you tried that hallucinogen -what was it?_

"No, that was terrifying. You know how small Ian Paice is -in no world should he have ever looked like that! And if you'd ever seen Ritchie do one of his evil grins, those are scary enough without being twenty times the normal size..." Glenn trailed off laughing.

_Not funny for you when it happened, but yeah it is! You're getting bored. You've been inside too long -that's the problem._

"I'd rather be bored in the house and able to get out than outright stuck in it and unable to. But I do need to get out of the house..."

Don was coming back downstairs.

"So, how big of a headache has he got?" Glenn asked.

"Could be better, but could be worse. His transmission has some problems -early enough for repair rather than replacement. He should be able to get it fixed quick, but he'll definitely be out tomorrow too unless he gets a ride in." Don winced. "And he's a little pissed off. Not that I can blame him for that. But try pulling apart his French accent when he's pissed and gone speeding motor-mouth-"

Glenn flipped back on the couch and guffawed.

The phone rang again.

"...And, it keeps going! One thing after another!" Don ranted, tossing his hands up and going to get it.

"When does it not?" Glenn shook his head, and grinned weakly, seeing that the caller ID box did indeed light up right after the phone started going off. It didn't get to beeping, because this time Don picked it up in time.

"Alright, I gotta pick something up at the post office." Don turned to Glenn. "Nothing exciting there, but if you'd like to start getting familiar with the streets, you're welcome to come along in the car. It's nice out, and we'll find something good on the radio-"

Glenn all but catapulted himself off the couch and ran to go put on shoes.

"Well, I guess I don't need to ask if you're feeling better than yesterday. Geez!"

"I'm so bored!" Glenn moaned. "I can function again, but I've got to get out of the house!"

"No shit! You won't be bored once you're well enough to get around town; there's enough to do around here -without you getting into trouble. I gotta show you around and get you acclimated to the Jeep too so you're good on your own when I'm not here."

Glenn followed Don outside.

"Truth be told," Don continued, opening up the car doors, "it might be a good thing you're up to it, because there's a chance I'll need you with me for this."

"What for?" Glenn settled in the front passenger seat.

"Those are your faxes you had sent from your doctor in Atlanta to bring to your doctor here the next time you have a heart check. And that's coming in two weeks too. Gotta make sure you're still doing alright after this detox period."

"I forgot about that," Glenn muttered, seeming to wilt. "Already, I've forgotten sending for those faxes and that was less than two weeks ago. Damn it, I'm getting so tired of these appointments, Don. I know I can't take it for granted if I was lucky enough to survive, but I swear -I won't be looking forward to it, if that's fair enough to say."

"Nobody I've met looks forward to going to the doctor, Glenn -unless they're really suffering." Don shook his head, putting the car in gear. "You'd better _not_ be looking forward to it, or you're gonna give ME a heart attack. And I'm serious when I say it."

Glenn's heart attack was part of why he couldn't just go stay in a rehab facility to get clean for now, and why Don had ended up taking matters into his own hands. Initial withdrawals were almost as stressful on the heart as the effects of cocaine -possibly worse for a long term addict. With the state of shock Glenn had been in a few days ago, Don could now say he knew exactly why -first hand and not just from understanding by simple logic that shock affected the heart. The liability was too huge for a facility to willingly take on until it was confirmed Glenn had recovered fully from the episode. Which sounded reasonable, until adding the factor of that being a couple of years at best. By which point the cocaine itself could have given him another heart attack and killed him. A lot of good that would have done, in Don's mind.

All the more reason in his mind why Glenn didn't need to be alone in Atlanta either.

The car ambled down the streets of the neighborhood, and Glenn looked out the window, marveling at the leaves on the trees that didn't blur with the motion of driving and the glare of the sun. As the radio came on and he listened to the tail end of Kevin Cronin singing about rolling with the changes while Gary Richrath tore his guitar up, he could recognize some of the outer city streets that Don navigated through -changed, but recognizable now when he had no recollection of them when he'd been down them following his flight in.

"So this is one of the more quiet roads into the city -we're not going in really deep to get to the post office, but it gives you an idea until I can really show you around. Recognize any of this?" Don asked.

"More than I thought I would," Glenn realized. It was the calmest he'd been in a car since trying to get right after his heart attack had thrown him into the shut-down state he'd been in the past few months.

"If you were to turn left from here," said Glenn, pointing out the windshield as he and Don sat waiting for a red light to change, "there would be some roads connecting eventually to the main road that goes to the interstate; right goes further into town, and going down this road in the other direction and taking a different street from yours that goes through would get to the beach..."

"There are some different traffic patterns that might make you want to go a different way, but those would work," Don confirmed. "You've still got it for getting around here. Once you know where there is to go in different places, you'll be all set."

Glenn spent the rest of the ride to the post office looking about, observing the changes to more familiar streets and trying to point out buildings he could remember. He remarked in the tedious line waiting to get to the desk that it was different, but almost like returning home.

"It's a little scary seeing what has changed in the time I haven't been here, but it looks the same in a general sense."

"Nothing's really the same ever again coming back to it after you leave it for awhile," Don mused, thinking on how it was the reason why he was nervous about being back to recording in a studio for himself next week. "You just have to figure out what the new normal is, and don't ask me how to go about that, because I'm still trying to figure it out."

"Next!" hollered the postman at the desk, calling Don and Glenn up.

"I think," Glenn continued as he and Don made their way back out to the car after finishing up, "I think it's finally starting to get better though."

"Well, we've got at least until the end of the summer to figure that out, and if we start with riding around in the car, then it's something." Don strapped in and found the radio station playing David Bowie, provoking a smile from Glenn. "I'm not going right back to the studio, so we can either go home, or if you're up to it, we can keep riding around."

An hour later as the car finally turned back for the house, Glenn was still watching out the windows, enjoying the more familiar, welcoming stretches of the city he remembered. He laughed at Don air-drumming on the steering wheel the music playing on the radio under the pleasant sun of the day, and for that hour, he'd forgotten his paranoia, and Don had forgotten his sickness.


	7. Sleepless Nights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the end of the fifth day, Don and Glenn can't sleep. They end up hanging out for the night. Tommy joins in spirit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some sleepy fluff (my favorite) to lighten this up some.

The arrival of the night brought Glenn's paranoia back on. Since Don had retreated upstairs immediately after dinner, tired out from returning to the studio and finally getting some things accomplished, the nerves had steadily grown. That was hours ago, and trying to go to bed early to sleep through it was an option Glenn was beginning to rule out.

It wasn't an angry energy that made him want to run around the house and throw something as it had the other night when he'd crashed, but it was enough to keep him from resting easy despite how tired he felt.

He felt tense. Nervous. Something in him was buzzing. His body wanted to leave it alone -not worry about it and go to sleep, but the nerves wouldn't back down.

The feeling, Glenn decided, was something like missing a step on going down the stairs. That jolt through the chest and the momentary grip of fear with a flutter of the heart. Except rather than peaking for one second and immediately backing down at the reassurance that everything was okay, this one held on and wouldn't let up. 

Trying not to think about it helped at first, but consciously trying not to think about it and the discomfort looped Glenn straight back to it, making it worse until there was an imaginary tightness through his chest that left him feeling breathless until he sighed every few seconds. Which he knew well enough how to decipher from what he'd felt with his heart attack and that what he felt now was harmless, but between his paranoia and having to go get his paperwork, he couldn't stop thinking and worrying about what would happen if he did have another episode alone in the bedroom.

The idea of crashing the way he had the other night and waking up feeling as sick and lonely as he'd felt was scaring him too.

Glenn rolled over and looked at the clock. 2:00 in the morning. He'd been lying awake for over two hours and wasn't any closer to falling asleep than he had been when he got there.

_Alright, that's enough,_ he thought to himself, hopping out of bed. Whether there was anywhere else he would sleep or not, his paranoia had made sure he wasn't going to in his room.

He padded barefoot down to the living room, stopping in the bathroom to splash water on his face, then in the kitchen for a drink of water. The discomfort ebbed away, leaving only the tense alertness.

_It's alright,_ he tried to tell himself.

A glance out the window of the living room facing the front revealed the corner of the cul de sac with little activity. The side windows showed the neighbor's fence and trees. Walking through the kitchen and the dining room tucked behind the hallway and bedrooms on the other side of the kitchen, the back windows showed the backs of houses on the street running behind, with gaps through to the street they were on. That street, being busier, had a few cars passing by, but nothing of interest to watch for a distraction.

Glenn ended up turning on the TV with the volume turned down and flipping it to the 24 hour weather, news, and traffic. Maybe watching the weather map would bore him into falling asleep on the couch. At least, he hoped it would.

The same kind of restlessness had landed itself on Don upstairs, and he'd been lying awake in his room too. As tired as he been all day between not feeling well and the shenanigans in the studio, the second he'd hit the mattress, his mind had kicked into overdrive. Not even the drowsiness from the antihistamine in the cold medicine he'd tossed back could calm it down.

More thinking. Thinking about Glenn. About Jeff. About the sucky kind of day poor Patt had been through. About the sucky kind of day he himself had, and the even suckier one he and Glenn had the day before. About the change of dynamic in the studio between now and last year, the difference between being top producer and working the pre-production stages only, and all the nonsense they'd achieved over the day compared to where they'd actually gotten.

He was currently thinking about how it felt like he'd barely gotten anywhere, and with all the changes that had taken place since 1988, he was still dealing with the reality that just when things seemed to be doing alright, something just _had_ to happen to shift the balance of the world _again._

A low, rising wail and the sound of a revving engine echoed outside from the direction of the streets running behind the house. It was just in time to keep Don from reaching a calm state where he could at least accept his lack of sleep.

_Oh, now what? The police?!_ Don pulled the cord on the blinds of the window behind his bed to get a look at the streets behind the house, suspecting that a few streets over along the ocean front, somebody had either gone and done something stupid like getting a truck stuck on the beach, or it was a speed chase.

He pulled a little too hard in his frustration, and the blinds, which had received plenty of abuse from renters and hadn't gotten any special attention from any owner since whoever before Don had installed them, detached from their fixture on the window frame and fell down. They landed on the sill with a crash that shocked the quiet in the house.

Don looked over the blinds in a pile of slats and string, and the now uncovered window letting in far too much street light from outside.

_Go figure. Just go fucking figure._ Now he had another thing to do before returning home for a week working with John and the others. That on top of everything else he'd have to do to prepare Glenn to be on his own.

Sure enough, blue and red lights flickered in from the road in the distance running parallel to the beach -somebody had done _something_. Whatever the heck it was.

Don slid off the side of the bed. He'd had enough. Picking up the blinds, he lay them out on the floor away from the bed so that they couldn't end up further tangled, slid on some shoes, and went down the stairs.

Walking into the living room, he met eyes with Glenn, who looked up from where he sat on the couch in the fetal position, blanket over his knees and scarf around his shoulders. He sprang an incredulous expression, and Don was sure he didn't look to much different.

"You can't sleep _either?"_

Glenn looked at the TV, to the window, back to Don, and laughed pitifully.

Don flipped his hands in the air. "Well, I guess we're both up for the night. Anything you want to do or talk about?"

"Not in particular." Glenn unfurled to sit with his feet propped up on the table, more comfortable to no longer be sitting in the dark with it too quiet.

"Let's see if anything good is on," said Don, turning to the TV, which was cycling around from the weather map to traffic cameras on interstate that were mostly quiet, spare for a few passing cars of early morning commuters and night owls. "And _not_ the news."

"I wanted to try putting myself to sleep with it, but it didn't quite do it," Glenn admitted.

"Stuff only works when you don't want to sleep; if it put you to sleep when you meant it to do that, it'd just be too easy." Don flipped through channels, trying to see what was good on the stations he had here in town by antenna. Most of it was bad cinema from the 60s on movie channels, and more news. The only promising one was repeats of shows from the new crime show on TV, _Law and Order,_ but between Glenn's anxiety and knowing it would just hype him up trying to figure out what had happened before the show got there, Don decided it wasn't the best thing to be watching in the wee hours of the morning. It wasn't the happiest subject matter either, and Don wasn't interested in it on a week like this.

"Alright, we're looking for something else then. Feeling up to a movie?"

"I wouldn't mind it since we're both up." Glenn was intrigued. "What have you got?"

"I don't have too many movies here, unfortunately, but I did bring a few things from home. I'll have to bring more some time." Don turned the TV off, slid off the couch, and crawled around the coffee table to pull a box of VHS tapes out from under the other couch, squinting to read the tape covers in the dim lamp lighting. "Let's see, what _do_ we got...?"

Glenn climbed down on the floor next to Don and watched as he flipped through the VHS tapes, pointing his flashlight he'd been keeping with him at night into the box.

"...We've got the first _Star Wars_ , the first _Indiana Jones_ , there's _Die Hard_ , that one's still pretty new. Action packed, but not too scary. _Alien_ , which is a little intense; we probably don't need to be watching that right now. Got a couple of old cartoons and shows - _Mr. Ed_ ; that was always my favorite and I missed it half the time on the road. And _Green Acres_ -I liked that one a lot too. If you want, I've got some old tapes of early music TV shows like Ed Sullivan upstairs and I can go get that. Might have the other _Star Wars_ up there too. What are you thinking?"

" _Star Wars_ is pretty good, I might go for that," Glenn admitted, looking over the descriptions on the backs of the tape sleeves. "Not too familiar with Indiana Jones, but it sounds interesting; I might want that during the day so I can really watch it." He set _Die Hard_ back in the box, deciding it was still too intense for him tonight.

"What would you recommend, Don?"

"Well, we want something that's a good story, but not too intense, or something that's funny. Kind of an escape from reality -nice to see, but something that can play in the background too if you end up trying to sleep later."

Glenn passed Don one of the _Green Acres_ tapes, and Don turned to the VCR under the TV stand to load it up.

"What got you up anyway?" asked Glenn, situating himself back on the couch.

"First thinking and not being able to to turn it off. Then noise outside. And if that wasn't enough, when I went to open the blinds to see what the noise was, the blinds..." Don set the tape sleeve down and turned around. "Glenn, I swear, it's always gotta be something; don't ask me how it happened. They fell down."

Glenn burst out laughing at the thought of Don touching the cord and the whole set of blinds dropping.

Don snorted at Glenn's reaction before turning back to the VCR. "Yeah, that'll be pretty funny when my window is covered again. Gonna have to get that fixed tomorrow; Tony said they can probably hold the fort down tomorrow working on demos, and I'll probably stay here and do that while Patt's still getting his transmission fixed -and he's lucky he didn't have to replace it. If I don't have to go in tomorrow, I might give him a ride to pick his car up so he doesn't have to fight the bus route in peak hours again. Lord knows, he's not having a fun week. Not that we aren't either!"

Glenn shook his head and pulled the throw blanket on the couch over his lap, leaning on the pillow he'd brought with him.

"So what got you up?"

"It's complicated is the most honest way I can put it." Glenn hesitated, then rambled it off. "Nerves. I don't feel bad, but I don't feel good either. And I don't want to get sick again. I couldn't stand being alone in the room either."

"Well, I guess if that's the one good part of us both being up, then we'll take it."

Glenn struggled to get comfortable with the thin throw blanket. "I should go get some blankets from my bed."

"No, don't worry about it; you stay here, because I gotta get one anyway." Having finished rewinding and starting the tape, Don got up and opened the hall closet between the stairs and the bathroom. He came back a moment later with two good-sized quilts and an extra pillow for himself, and tossed one of the quilts to Glenn. He also reached under the couch and pulled out a thin cushion that fit the top rim of the coffee table just right, turning it into an ottoman when placed on top.

"Settle on in and put your feet up if you like," Don offered as the bright theme music and opening credits over the town and countryside view started.

He situated himself up against the arm of the couch closest to the TV, away from the end which Glenn had camped out on with his pillow and the couch pillows, and made himself comfortable with the pillow behind his back and his quilt over his lap.

With a thin couch pillow between them, Glenn settled under the throw blanket and his quilt, tossing the excess over to the other end of the couch. He was still well awake, but having a warm body in the room with him and the comfort of moving characters on the TV was slowly subduing the tense buzzing within him.

_Can I join your little party on the couch here? Looks cozy..._

_Why not? I can't speak out loud to you now, but you can hear me alright. Hang out with me here; there's space._

It never ceased to amaze Glenn after over a decade, and though he was used to being told he was crazy for it, he knew there really was a presence. Nobody could tell him otherwise, try as some might. There was nothing stopping Glenn from leaning over across the remaining space on the couch, but there was a sudden sense of security, and he didn't feel the cold of the running air conditioning unit in one of the windows quite as much on his side anymore. The comfort of the couch setup increased tenfold, and he was finding himself for the first time since arriving in California, fully at comfort without a complaint to give aside from not having fallen asleep.

_Watching TV at two thirty in the morning?_

_Neither of us can sleep. I don't know if it'll work, but it sure beats the traffic cameras. Now that we're all together too._

_Nothing wrong there, even if I would have probably gone for the Star Wars. It's nice. Lighthearted; you can't go wrong with that. Look there._

Glenn looked to the TV and began laughing as he watched one of the characters climbing an impossibly high telephone pole connected by wires to other poles to answer a ringing telephone mounted at the top with a greeting of 'Hello, Green Acres?' As if it was completely normal to answer a phone several feet above the ground.

_I couldn't deal with that. If I had to climb the pole every time just to make a phone call, I'd just get a ride to go talk to whoever and forget the phone,_ he mused to Tommy.

_Not too much more of a stretch from the roof, really. You've been on the roof enough times before in the past, not including the times with the knife. Just carry the phone and the dial up there with you -have a cord long enough to come out of the window -'Hello; Deep Purple -mark four...?'_

_And then David comes out of the house: 'Get down from the roof!'_ Glenn snickered aloud, but the scene playing out on the TV was covering for him, and Don was giving a low laugh too.

_Jon and Ian might have told you to get down too, to be fair._

Glenn yawned so hard his eyes watered.

_Tired, Tommy..._

_I'm not surprised; you've been through it. I'm tired too._

_That's because you didn't sleep for a fourth night. If I don't sleep, then will you promise me that at least you will?_

_I'll see about it. I'd rather you get some sleep with me if I'm going to, Glenn._

_I'll try..._ Glenn's eyelids were getting progressively heavier, and Don had gone quiet next to him. He stared straight ahead as the screen's image began to blur together until it disappeared.

Don found himself lifting heavy eyelids at 5:00 in the morning to find he'd dropped out on the couch next to Glenn -who was sound asleep -at some point through the night. The tape was automatically rewinding itself in the machine to play through the four episodes for the third time.

Stopping the VCR and turning the TV off, Don shifted over to the other couch to stretch out and fall back asleep before he could fully wake up.

He saw Glenn, who still lay back against the couch, feet reclined on the table, covered in blankets. His one hand was extended out by his side over the trail of blanket, fingers loosely curled with gaps in between as if to hold something, and the one end of his scarf draped across the back of the couch away from him just barely the correct width for another person.

Glenn had said a few things a while back when they'd first met, and while Don couldn't know what he meant from experience, he could imagine it was true enough to Glenn that there was a presence. He certainly wasn't going to be the one to judge it as others might.

"Sleep well, you two," he muttered, before rolling over and returning to his dreams.


	8. A Break in the Clouds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day six sees another fall with some withdrawal and traffic induced headaches -but is saved by a surprise in the evening! Are things finally picking up for Don and Glenn?

Don pushed open the door of the house, stumbled over the threshold inside, tossed his keys down on the shelf over the coat hooks, and collapsed to lean heavily on the doorway between the foyer and the living room, standing in the soothing current of the air conditioning flow. Without lifting his head from where it rested against the wall, he turned over to see Glenn once again curled up and appearing to be feeling unwell.

At least he wasn't alone then, he thought as he closed his eyes and blew out a hard sigh. A coughing fit seized him, and he muttered low, indistinguishable profanities through it.

"...Never again; that was stupid..." was the one audible phrase he spoke.

Glenn watched intently from the couch, sitting up on the edge and leaning over his lap in Don's direction. He rubbed above his eyes with a headache, but his curiosity was greater than it.

"Am I allowed to ask what happened? Problems in the studio, I suspect?"

"No, the studio was fine today," said Don, wiping perspiration from his forehead and neck. "It was just fine. We actually got more done today than we did all week on the two songs we've been focusing on. The guys got it together, Terry's over his cold, and Patt came in and got it rolling. That kid worked his ass off today. I can tell he worked out what he wanted yesterday and came in ready. The trouble was getting to and from the studio."

"So then what happened? More trouble for Patt?"

"It's a long story," Don warned. "Are you really that curious? Because if I tell you, I'll go on a rant for sure."

"I'm always curious if it's something out of the ordinary."

"Alright then. It actually did have to do with Patt, and I'll tell you it wasn't a complete fiasco since we all made it where we were going, but we sure tried to have one."

"What happened?" Glenn pulled his knees against his chest so that he could rest his aching head while sitting up and looking forward.

Don stepped away from the wall and sank down on the other couch. "We expected it that I would pick Patt up this morning and we would drive into the studio, then after we did everything for the day, I'd take him to check on his car. If it was ready, then great -he'd take it from there. If not, he'd have me or Terry drive him home.

"Turned out -and this part is on me, because I was thinking about everything else besides it. I forgot I'd scheduled to have my car inspected today -yearly inspection and it's the last day of the month. There's no waiting to do it unless I want to risk a ticket every time I pull out of the driveway.

"So I got Patt this morning and took him to the studio so he could get back together with everyone and have things ready -you know the routine. He got out there, and I went straight to drop my car off. Took the bus and trolley system to get back. Made sense to do it since the station was right there by the shop and the trolley was pulling in as I was getting out -it was faster than waiting in a cab. But it's been awhile since I've been on those during peak morning hours when everyone's cramming on, and I'm not looking forward to doing it again. Had me drained by the time I got back to start with them."

"And why do I get the feeling that's only the start of it? asked Glenn, repositioning himself and trying to get comfortable with a muscle twitch starting in his leg.

Don raised his eyebrows. "Because why do you think?"

Glenn's eyes lit up with curiosity even with the pained, exhausted look across his features. "Oh -what happened on the way home? Something happened; I know it did! This is gonna be a tale to tell!"

Don sighed. "It might just be. Terry offered to drive us to pick our cars up when we were done, but then he got a phone call, and he had to leave early and go home to deal with -I think he said the power went out before he left, and it set his security alarm off when it came back on -so there went that idea.

"So Patt and I walked out to the trolley so we could deal with that mess getting there on our own, only to find out that some line malfunction had the whole eastbound track stalled for the next hour. There were actually trains backed up in line down the way and we could see it. We'd have been nuts to wait out on the street for it, so we went back, and Paul -he's working late because he decided to redo a drum track -told us to just take his car out, and that if Patt's car was ready, to park his car where Patt was getting service, and he'd ride the line to get it later when the accident was clear. Now our game plan is Patt picks up his car, he drives me to the service station, I pick my car up and we both drive home from there.

"Well, thanks to the delay with the stupid train, that put Patt and I out in the middle of rush hour. We got stuck in traffic _bad_ trying to get out to his car, only to find out it _still_ wasn't ready. It's already getting hot enough that if you're sitting in the sun in standstill traffic, the car gets hot no matter what you do -that made things more unpleasant. And if that wasn't enough, going from there to my car, there was roadwork. Detours work great IF they have the signs up to take you _back_ to whatever path it took you from, and whoever set it up had the bright idea not to do that part. So we're hot and we're stuck in crawling traffic, and we're trying to figure out how far we have to go before we head back so that we don't end up having to go through the line to get away from whatever the heck it was we were going around _again_."

Glenn shook his head. "Oh no!" He was laughing weakly, having experienced it more than once and knowing it was hell.

"Once we dealt with that, we got my car and went back to the studio -Patt gave Paul his car back, he got back in my car, and I drove him home! Before getting here now. It was like playing hot potato with cars, and it was fucking _hot_ too!"

"How long in total?" asked Glenn, laughing at Don's comparison.

"Three hours. I coulda driven home to my house out of the city and driven back here. Over a hundred miles, I could have covered, and I probably covered twenty in that time."

"We have the other car here, and I'm not feeling great, but I'm not down for the count -I could have come out and helped take Patt to his car so you didn't have to wind everywhere if I'd known," Glenn offered.

"No, don't worry about that. You might be well enough, but I wouldn't want you to start going downhill in traffic, and today just wasn't good. Maybe if traffic isn't as ridiculous tomorrow you can help take Patt to his car, and I need to get you familiar with everything in that car tonight too," Don realized, wincing at the thought of another thing he had to get done today. "Anyway, I'm going to go shower and change because I feel disgusting. And I have to put my blinds back up before I end up crashing on the couch again. If you're feeling up to it, I'd recommend you take your shower now too; that way when I'm finished upstairs we'll both be ready to do dinner."

Upon finishing his shower, Don was grateful for one favor of finding out that the blinds were a quick fix. Nothing was broken or bent out of place, simply, an old washer supporting the screw in the fixture had broken apart. Swapping it out with another from the tool box had the blinds back up pretty quick. Untangling the cords took a little more effort, but after the fight with traffic, it was nothing.

He thought he was past the excitement of the day. _Thought_. Until he came downstairs to Glenn pacing the hallway with the same tense, worried look he'd had the other night. His hands shook by his sides, and he was winding up tighter with each passing second.

_Uh-oh,_ thought Don. _Not again. We are NOT going through that again. No way._ If Glenn made it through the evening without going back through that vicious cycle of shutting down he'd gone through on the third night and fourth day, he'd have enough confidence that they were past the worst. But knowing the way the world turned -especially today -he wasn't going to let his guard down. A miserable evening was inevitable if the nervous energy turned violent.

Then he remembered what he'd been working on earlier in the day that he'd picked Glenn up from the airport. The time was just about right...

"Hey, Glenn?" Don headed into the kitchen.

Glenn's voice trembled. "Yes, what is it?"

"I've kind of got a lot of things to do to get you and everything here ready between tonight and tomorrow. Think you're feeling well enough to give me a hand?"

"I might not be able to do everything, but I can try."

_Good,_ thought Don, breathing a sigh of relief. Maybe it would distract Glenn from going nuts, and keep him from doing so more than he already had.

"Glenn, if you look in the front hallway by the stairs, on the shelf over the coat hooks, there's a basket in top. If you could take that down, and look for the set of keys that has one with a blue plastic ring -you know those things that go around the top of the key to tell them apart."

"Yeah?" asked Glenn, stopping his pacing and standing on his toes to see into the basket without taking it down -reluctant to do so for whatever reason that Don decided not to question.

"Go ahead and take that one out. That blue key goes to the shed -there's not much in there, and not much in the backyard because there's not a lot of space between the trees back there. But if you could open the shed; there's an old bench in there I had to clean up and put new wood sealant on last week because moss grew all over it, and I put it in there to dry in case it rained. It should be good now, so if you could move stuff out of the way of the door, and tell me when you're ready for me to help you move it out of there?"

"On it." Glenn walked through the kitchen to the other side, then through the dining room, turned around, and came back into the kitchen, perplexed.

"Where's the back door again?"

Don smirked and motioned for him to follow. He pulled open a wooden sliding door that was right next to the doorway to the dining room. Beyond the sliding door was a set of five steps, storage shelves on either sides of the steps, and at the bottom of it, the door to the backyard.

"I had this door open the other day, so having it shut probably threw you off."

"I have never seen anything like that with a backdoor in a house." Glenn gaped incredulously at the sliding wooden door that looked like just a closet, mind-blown that the door to the outside of the house was hidden. "And I thought this house was an ordinary one; that is cool!"

"It gives it some character, that's for sure," Don agreed. "I liked it quite a bit in the day myself -unless if I tried to get in from the outside with something heavy and forgot to leave the closet door open -it's a little harder to open from the opposite side. Actually, if you look at the light fixture on the ceiling, you can tell it used to be a recessed porch that someone who had this before I did decided to close off."

Glenn decided he was more charmed by how it could be used to prank a guest if the racks were pulled to hide the frame of the closet door, which would leave the door itself appearing like a wall.

"Imagine inviting a friend through the front gate into the yard and later telling them to take this door inside the house so they end up thinking that it's an exterior closet that doesn't go anywhere!" Though he doubted he'd have an opportunity to consider it, even Don was amused by that.

Glenn got on moving yard and garden supplies out of the way, and just as he finished up, Don came outside and helped him move the bench. One thing Glenn had moved out was a yard umbrella, and along the side of the house, he saw by the relocated bench where Don had put the holder it clicked into in the ground.

"The umbrella gets closed up when you're not with it, and if there's bad weather, I'd appreciate if you could put it in the shed just so wind doesn't damage it. But I wanted to get it fixed up, because this way, you can have a place to hang out outside next week when you're feeling up to it, and I wouldn't mind being able to sit outside some myself like I do back home."

"I think I can manage that." Glenn looked over the bench and set the umbrella up, before looking around the small portion of yard before the fence. It was only a few feet to the back fence, but there was enough shade from the house and trees on the side to get sunlight without being directly in it.

"I like it!" He decided that he was excited to hang out there -especially that it meant having an alternative space to spend daytime in to the living room he'd become almost too familiar with for the short period of time he'd been there, being too sick to go much further.

Channeling out the nervous energy into moving things instead of throwing them worked initially. Glenn seemed happy with the bench, and he was calmer. However, it also worked to tire him out, which led to its own complications soon after.

As luck would have it, while Don didn't have to deal with violence, he did deal with an argumentative Glenn over dinner, which was ready within just a few minutes of coming back inside. Coming down with a headache as fatigue hit, Glenn didn't want to eat his food -even after he'd been the one to serve himself tonight and had chosen what he put on his plate -and Don had already figured out from the pattern of past phone calls and earlier in the week that the longer Glenn went without eating before binging all at once, the grumpier he tended to get.

Encouraging Glenn to eat so that he wouldn't get to that point later led to Don experiencing the overgrown toddler behavior he'd feared at the beginning of the week. Had he not been tired himself from his dance in traffic, he might have found it funny.

"Do you not want to eat because you feel sick to your stomach?"

"I don't feel good, but it's not like I'm going to be sick," Glenn explained, removing the alternative concern.

Don pointed to Glenn's plate -filled just under halfway with spaghetti and with small portions of green beans and salad beside it, leaving a fourth of the plate uncovered.

"Eat."

"I'm tired; I don't feel like it," Glenn moaned, sitting hunched over the kitchen table, head in hands. He'd pushed his plate to the side and he was propping himself up on his elbows.

"It's not a matter of whether you feel like it or not; you need to eat some of it."

"Ow, Don." Glenn rubbed his head above his eyes.

"You don't have to finish it all," Don reassured. "But you need to eat _something_ before your blood sugar drops. That's not gonna help the headache or the heart problems. And you already told me your doctor was getting on you for eating sporadically months ago."

"Doctors drive me nuts; I'm getting sick and tired of it," Glenn grumbled. "Do this; do that -and nothing makes it any better-"

"Yeah, they drive me nuts too. I'm not telling you to do everything they've told you; that'd be stupid since I'm not even pretending to do everything mine tells me to do. I'm not gonna dictate everything. But if you're physically able and not getting sick, you need to eat. We just moved heavy stuff outside -you're probably feeling weak because you're hungry and it got to you."

"No, I'm not!"

"Did you eat anything earlier today?"

"Just drank some tea."

Don sighed and looked over Glenn's shoulder to where he'd pushed his plate aside, contemplating what would give Glenn the most energy with a minimal amount.

"At least eat half of the pasta. If you can keep it down, I think you'll feel more like yourself."

Glenn sighed heavily, but he shifted his chair over to sit in front of his plate and did so at a slow pace, like that of a kid who didn't want to but was doing it because it was the only hope of getting away from the table.

He didn't clear his plate, but his reluctance went away not long after he started, and he finished more than what Don told him to, before sitting back from the table and waiting until Don finished and began to clean up, getting up then to help him.

Half an hour passed, and Glenn not only had held it down, but indeed was less lethargic, even though he was reluctant to admit it.

"Alright, come outside with me again," said Don when everything was cleaned up and put away. "I gotta show you everything in the Jeep, and even though you know I've had enough time in cars today, if you want to drive it around a bit to get your bearings with it, we'll do that too. I want to at least show you the way to the grocery store in case you need to get anything you don't think to tell me when I stock you up tomorrow."

"Alright, then. And I saw where the post office was."

"That's one thing we don't have to do tonight, thankfully."

A ride about town to familiarize Glenn with the Jeep ended up helping Don too. Traffic had settled down, and being able to be in a car that moved more than twenty feet at a time without stopping was satisfying enough to ease the headache from the day. Glenn perked up as he learned the way around the area and recognized a few stretches, no longer feeling trapped to the house for any time he didn't feel too ill to leave, and feeling calm and safe driving for the first time in awhile.

Turning on the radio, catching some familiar songs, and getting into a jam with Don as they rode along helped too. Both were in far better spirits as they pulled into the driveway laughing after Glenn got going all out singing on the refrains of "Tumbling Dice" up on the highest harmony, managing to get Don into it with him.

However, the icing on the cake didn't come for almost another hour after Glenn had settled back in on the living room couch and Don was taking dishes out of the dishwasher and putting them away. A low rattle sounded on the street through the living room, prompting Glenn to kneel on the couch and sneak a look out the window.

His eyes brightened, and he perked up on the couch like a kid spotting the ice cream truck and plotting a mad dash. In fact, he had seen a truck. Not an ice cream truck, but one that was plenty important to him.

"FedEx!" he sang out.

"Is it?" asked Don, glancing over to the calendar. "They came a day earlier than the range they estimated."

But sure enough, the delivery man was coming up to the door with a narrow, long box, and Don and Glenn made their way to the door, opening it before he got up the steps.

"Package sent from Hughes to Dokken," announced the delivery man.

"Sure enough." 

"Apologies for it being later delivery than usual -all our routes got backed up due to afternoon traffic and we still have a few to get to."

"Yeah, that rings a bell to me." Don signed off the delivery and put the box through the door behind him. By the time he closed the door and the truck was driving off, Glenn was sitting on the floor next to the box, working at the tape with a pair of scissors. 

"Been a long seven days?" asked Don with a laugh. "Or eight days since you dropped it off at the store."

Glenn pulled the box open and pulled out his bass, able to feel it through the layers of insulation taped around it. With a contented sigh, he rested his fingers on the thick strings -loosened for travel underneath the thin polystyrene sheets -and hugged the body to his chest for a moment before beginning to work at unwrapping it.

"Yes it has." 

Don chuckled.

"You can have at it whenever you want, just as long as it's not blasting up the stairs when I'm trying to sleep. I'm headed up here in a minute, so you can go to town if you want and not have any distractions."

Glenn just laughed as he balled up the packing material to put in the garbage can, and the twinkle in his eyes that hadn't been there all week told it all just before Don did make his way up, intent on calling up John, Mikkey, Billy, and Peter to confirm their meeting times at his house for the next week.

_Think of how many ideas you could write to come back with if it distracts you enough to feel better, Glenn!_

"We'll have the run of the house for most of next week, Tommy. You can hang out now and see if I can come up with anything once I tune this back up."

_Wanna stay up late again tonight?_

"As late as I can manage!" Glenn pulled a finger across the bass strings. Though muted without being plugged into a practice amp, four notes in harmony with each other sounded, and he lightly tossed his head with satisfaction.

..........

Don woke up and sniffed, pleased to find his airways clear. He tried at clearing his throat to find it was also mostly clear, and as his senses began to wake up as the grips of sleep slipped further from him, he decided he was finally feeling better.

Feeling better, he didn't have to go into the studio today, and tonight he'd be headed home for a quiet night before officially beginning the recording process beyond demos played over the phone and stuck on recorder tapes to send off to Geffen. He wasn't certain whether to dare to think things were finally all well without having them turn back around, but he was contemplating it. Contemplating reaching a hand out of the ashes that had all but buried him.

He looked down to the alarm clock, and decided he could. It was 7:00. He didn't have to be up yet and could lie back down for a couple of extra hours of rest, whether he could sleep or not, because it wasn't his alarm time.

But the alarm hadn't gone off yet, and Don couldn't hear any car alarms or sirens outside, or anything else unpleasant that would have woken him, and whatever had woken him up hadn't jarred him. He didn't feel anxious or discomfort and he hadn't had an odd dream, so that wasn't it either.

_What woke me up?_

Out of curiosity, Don pulled the remote from his bedside table and shut the air conditioner off in his room so it went silent, listening intently for anything else that could have done it gently.

He soon identified the sound coming through the house, and if there was any noise that could have pulled him from sleep, there was none in the world at the current time that would have made Don as happy as the one he did hear drifting up from downstairs.

Glenn. Singing in the shower downstairs with an unearthly strength for the time of the morning -outright cutting loose and throwing every part of his soul into it.

Able to hold a note without the spasms distorting his ability to hold pitch.

One hand emerging up from the depths of the snowy white powder at the end of hell week, trying to find its way out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A simple, progressing passing through chapter that I can call special for myself because it's a return from hiatus brought on by final exams, and I'm uploading from Scotland (on study abroad!)


	9. Mirror, Mirror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new string of trials lays itself out for Don and Glenn as Don returns home for his first week all together with a new band, and as Glenn figures out where to go next on his first week alone in L.A.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long one with a lot of band anti-parallelism (a "what if this... rather that that" scenario) and symbolic meaning in plants and mirrors. Specifically to mention the song, it tied into seven days of hell week, seven years in Dokken ~the superstition that breaking a mirror is seven years of bad luck

The seventh day of Glenn's time with Don excluding his flight day arrived with the beginning of a new month, and preparation for the next week which Don would spend away from the city.

Hell week had ended, and Glenn was now recovering from it as the next step in what was hopefully getting clean. Seven days of hell, just like the seven years of hell that Don was still recovering from.

Everything was set in L.A. for the next week. Glenn's boxes were unpacked and his belongings were stored in his room where he saw fit. The laundry was done and Glenn had fresh sheets on his bed. Don changed the sheets on his own bed too so he would come back to his bed ready in case if he was tired on arrival, and now he was trying to drench and drain the soil of the jade plant for the first time without jostling the broken branch too much. If he did it successfully, it would be fine for another three weeks to heal undisturbed.

He was waiting for the appropriate time to pour off the excess water from the surface of the soil when Glenn came into the kitchen, having woken up from a short nap on the couch following his all-nighter.

"Starting to have fun now?" Don squinted as he tried to assess the branch without pushing on it.

"Best night since I've been here!" Glenn stuck a piece of bread in the toaster. "Watching TV the other night was fun too; I'd call that a close second."

"A shame the other nights had to be hell." Don frowned and stood up, heading for the closet door to the mud room storage area.

"I'll take it; at least I got two good ones!"

"And I take it you're feeling better this morning?" Teasing crept into Don's tone as he shuffled through items on his miscellaneous storage shelf.

Glenn came to the closet door and grinned sheepishly down the steps. "Oh, did I wake you up?"

"No, I slept good. I did wake up at one point, and I went back to sleep. You sure were going to town when I did wake up though. Would have been a nice thing to wake up to if I'd had to get up then."

"You know, even though I've been recovered for awhile, that's the best it's felt since the injury too."

"Glenn..." Don came up from the shelf with a bundle of garden twine. "Most singers can't sing like that first thing in the morning, or at any time without warming up. I can't do it -never could, and I'm only headed for a decline now. I wouldn't know you'd had an injury now if I hadn't heard you mention it before, and if you keep on this track getting better from the coke, I think you're gonna have something special."

The toaster popped, and Glenn jumped a foot in the air, prompting Don to smirk.

"Well, I'll consider what to do then once I make it through this. If my luck doesn't run out before then."

Don rolled his eyes. _The one time I try to push myself not to be cynical, and..._

"Glenn, eat your toast."

A couple of minutes later, Don sat at the table with the plant pot, the twine, and a pair of scissors, and Glenn joined with his toast and jam, intrigued and watching while he did just as he was told.

"Whatcha got?" he asked through a mouthful.

"This thing? I picked it up at the store a couple of weeks before you got here."

"Is that branch broken?" Glenn leaned in to get a look. "And that part's still alive - I can hardly believe it!"

"And you know -oddly enough I wasn't looking for it, nor did I really want it. But I saw that and picked it up on impulse, I guess. Trying to see if I couldn't get it to recover. It's broken pretty bad, but if you look here, it's still got some green stem connecting it, and if the other end hasn't wilted by now, it's gotta be getting water from the rest of the plant. I didn't have high hopes for it, but it might hold up."

"It's got more life in it than you'd think then on that -I didn't realize it was damaged this whole week," Glenn admitted. "Not that I really noticed it the first few days here."

"I could imagine why." Adding another piece of twine to stabilize the branch to the stick he'd initially braced it against, Don could see the extent of it. It hadn't made much visible progress in healing, but it didn't feel as weak or bend as though it were hanging by a thread. A long way to go, but past the worst of it.

"When I found it, it had been kicked under the display table where you'd hardly be able to see it; it would have eventually died from lack of light under there if someone hadn't pulled it out."

"I suppose it would have." Glenn went quiet; there was some eerie feeling within him as he remembered just how he'd felt a couple of weeks ago, scared and alone.

Finishing tying the stem, Don went to drain the excess water and put it back in the window sill. "I gotta say, it's putting up a pretty good fight. Alright. Now I gotta go load the car. If you could me know when you're finished here, I have a few things to show you before I leave."

"Ten-four."

The next half hour was a return to quiet, aside from shuffling about as Don went in and out of the house, between the upstairs and his car. As he cleaned up after himself, Glenn watched Don first take out his suitcase for the week, then a couple of guitars he'd brought with him. 

He was reaching through the back door of the car, strategically shifting the guitars about to find a placement that would minimize how much the movement of the car would bounce them, when Glenn finally came out on the porch.

"I'm ready when you are!"

For all the things Don had gotten finished, there were a number of things he had not gotten to that he'd wanted to. He'd meant to wash the dishes from the past couple of days and attempt to sort the cupboard into some organization scheme rather than putting things wherever an open spot was to make it easier for Glenn to find things. He'd also meant to vacuum in his room. The crash down of the blinds had kicked up some dust from the slats, and he'd realized last night his carpet was now dusty when he got on it barefoot. 

Oh well, Don decided. He felt satisfied enough to dismiss those as less important. He wouldn't be in his room for the next few days; it could wait. Glenn was well enough by now to search for whatever he needed and use the dishwasher. If it was something to delay him becoming stir crazy -which was inevitable if his energy stayed up -all the better. 

Glenn was far from finished dealing with withdrawals -he still had the long term fatigue, stress, and the fight of not getting back into the drugs to get through -but he was stable enough to take care of himself. He had phone numbers to call for help if he needed it, he knew the car and his way around the neighborhood, and Don wasn't putting it beyond Glenn to figure out his way through the city if he tried. Somewhere under the effect of all those drugs, he'd have a subconscious memory to navigate the traffic. Doing so when he felt well enough might help stimulate him back into a healthier state of mind by making him think it through; Don knew well enough from their conversations that Glenn enjoyed a challenge when he felt up to one.

Now Glenn followed Don through the house for the last time before he left and everything could begin to unfold as it would.

"So today's the first of the month, and you'll be back...?"

"Either the night of the eighth or the morning of the ninth," Don completed. "Depends on how I feel after we're done on the eighth as to when I'll make the drive. Patt wants to check in with me on the fifth. So I will have to drive into town for a few hours midway. I can stop by then if you want."

"There's not anything important for something kept up in the attic, is there?" Glenn cringed at the thought of having to climb the ladder during a shaky spell. He wasn't trusting himself to be done with those, as much as he hoped he was.

"Hell, no! There's some old recording equipment up there, otherwise I avoid going up there like the plague if you can't tell by the shitload of dust, which someday I'll get it in myself to clean up. The only reason you have to go clambering around up there is if you want to come down sneezing and looking like a ghost."

Glenn burst out laughing at the thought, remembering the cloud from the old amp.

"Or bloody."

"Hey, you'll be cleaning it if you do." Don pointed at Glenn matter-of-factly. "Alright, you remember where we keep the keys, what's in all the cabinets, how the washing machine and the dishwasher work, all that. There's ibuprofen and upset stomach medicine in the bathroom cabinet. And don't even think about trying to get high off of that. I once accidentally took too much ibuprofen not thinking, and all it does is make you sick. You don't want to do it."

Glenn ducked out from the door and peeped around the doorway with a grin, clearly acting to be facetious. "Does it make it better or worse for you to know that I've already learned that the hard way a few years ago?"

Don sighed and put his hand to his face. "I should have known."

"If it makes you feel any better, you won't have to worry about that. Honestly, I can assure you, I won't try it again!"

"Yeah, you spent enough time this week twitching and having stomach issues. There's stuff in there to clean yourself up too if you get hurt. Cuts and scratches. Try not to end up needing that either. There might still be some tape in there if you want to put it on your fingers to avoid splitting them on the strings; I don't know if you try to do anything for that.

"Hall closet -you've got some extra towels, blankets, and pillows on the upper shelves; batteries if anything needs changing -the remote, your flashlight, whatever. There are some more flashlights in there too, so hopefully the power doesn't go out at night, but if it does, there's backup. Vacuum there at the bottom, and I'm not really sure what else is still in there; most of the other stuff in there went out when I moved, but you can check it out if you want-"

Already having curiosity get the better of him, Glenn pulled open the closet door and looked down to the lower shelves.

"What _is_ in here anyway-?"

Don put a hand on his hip. "You're in rare form right now, Glenn. That's alright, I don't know how I'm beating traffic out of here anyway."

"Isn't that everything downstairs?"

Don stood at the bottom of the stairs and pointed up.

Glenn stopped and stared, puzzled. "I thought I wasn't allowed up there."

"No, you're welcome to come up there if I'm not up for the night. I'd prefer you not hang out in my bedroom, but you can still go through it to get to the bathroom up there. But there are a couple of things up there I want to show you. Come on. They might even keep you from getting too bored."

Hesitantly at first, Glenn followed Don up the steps. He gripped the rail tight, feeling a resurgence of the nerves he'd felt when he'd first arrived, unsure of what to make of his surroundings. But he picked up speed near the top as his raging curiosity took over.

The stairs divided the upstairs into a u-shape with uneven sides. Don first led Glenn through the door on the thinner side of the U above the living room.

"This in here is the office of sorts. It was set up as an office when I moved here, and modified more to what I used it for."

There were two swivel chairs, a large desk on one wall under the window, and on the other back wall, guitar stands, an old amp rig, a sustaining pedal, and a track recorder. The wall on that side had ample places to plug things in too -more so than common. There was also a thick carpet on the floor, which was not only comfortable to stand in, but worked perfectly to dampen sound from feedbacking and echoing out of control.

Glenn stood just inside the doorway, staring at first. Then, a naughty grin crawled across his features. After a night of playing and keeping quiet while doing so, he was already thinking of how much fun he could have in here to pass the time while Don was away.

"I took out a lot of the stuff that would be in the desk, and the equipment I still use -I got mostly new stuff when I moved, but this still works. It's not great quality to record with, but you can record some stuff if you want too. Play it back, think on it -maybe come up with some of your ideas."

"Oh, I might just! I'm already getting ideas." It wasn't much, but it was home enough for Glenn with this addition.

"Knowing you, you might leave here with a whole album demoed up."

"But then that wouldn't be a bad thing either!"

"As long as it floats your boat." Don watched as Glenn looked at the non-portable amp and what could be plugged into it. "Alright, so this is a hit. Cool."

The third wall of the office was a storage closet, but when Glenn opened it up to look inside, it was empty.

"Everything in there got moved out when I moved. Come on, I want to show you the other room.

There was a room across from the stairs, between the bedroom and the office -small and tucked away. An old couch was on the wall under the window, and on the wall not too far away from the door was a TV and a VCR. Empty shelves were on the walls in the corners, and a side table with a lamp also stood beside the couch.

"Looks cozy," Glenn mused.

"This room was set up as a family sort of room up here when I came to it, and I left it like this," Don explained. "Judging by the wall color and the location, I'm pretty sure it was originally a nursery. Could have redone it, but it wasn't a priority, and then I was out of here."

Pastel blue wall paint, thick dark blue carpet, and a curtain valance above the window that was dark blue with white stars on it. 

"Probably so." Glenn looked about it, but had a faraway look, obviously still thinking about what he could do in the other room.

"Not anything special like the office. But you can watch some TV in here -it works. This was where I used to hang out with one of my bandmates -sometimes we'd have some long nights here when the studio wouldn't let us camp out and we needed to. I don't really like using this area myself these days, but if you prefer it up here over the living room while I'm away, go for it. I mentioned I had a few other things to watch -those will be in the desk drawers in the office, and you can look."

"Is that everything?"

"Just about." Don led Glenn back out in the hall and opened the adjacent door to the master bedroom. "The door to the back left of the room goes to the bathroom -unless you'd rather run downstairs. And that's it."

"I like it." Glenn followed Don back down the stairs.

"Then hopefully you're set." Don grabbed his keys and turned to Glenn, pointing right at him to emphasize himself. "You know where everything is in the phone book, and you know that if you start feeling real bad, you call me sooner than later. If you end up needing help, it's going to take me over an hour to get back here."

"I've certainly got that."

1:00 o'clock. Past the worst of mid-day traffic, and possibly enough time to escape the pickup for afternoon traffic if he got in the car and put the pedal to it now.

"Alright then. I'm headed out. See you when I'm back, and try to stay out of trouble." _Please, stay out of trouble, and I'll just hope I'm not getting into trouble,_ Don thought as he descended the front steps, willing himself to not think of how everything could go wrong as it had before.

He was just starting to back out of the driveway when Glenn walked out on the stoop.

"Hope you have a good time with them!" he called, holding up the horns he'd become all too familiar with during his short time in Black Sabbath.

Don released the start of a laugh along with some nervous tension, and held up a matching gesture in lieu of the more popular wave goodbye as he finally accelerated forward on the street and the thumping bass intro of "Back On the Road Again" played over the radio. He even had the slightest desire to mime with his hands in the air as the drums kicked in, first with simple strikes on the beat, then filling in between as the guitar joined -something he hadn't felt in two years.

...

He returned home to more mail -relevant mail -than he'd seen at once in two years too. The postman -whom he'd warned of his weeks out of town throughout the summer -had placed an overflow combination lock box beneath the post box he had. Copies of documents from Geffen that John, Mikkey, Billy, and Peter had all signed off and sent for record keeping accompanied the regular mail he was getting. 

Finally, for better or worse, they were getting started.

In the time he had following the two hour drive home -during which he'd escaped most of the delays, only getting hung up where a couple of busy exits began to back up across the interstate -Don assessed the state of his home garden. The timer set irrigation system he'd installed last year had worked in most of the areas he'd buried the weeping hoses, where he had plants that didn't do as well going without water. A couple of plants had wilted over, but they were ones that were struggling before he left and wouldn't be difficult to replace. It was the far end that would take a while to deal with through the grass.

"Damn horsetail," he groaned to himself. _It's like fucking drama in the band. Just can't get it gone._ No matter how often he pulled out the invasive, water stealing fiend, it kept coming back within weeks. It would always be there to a point, sometimes subdued, and sometimes spread out and taking over, slowly choking the life out of everything else.

He managed to clear a section of it before retiring to the house for a quiet night. Quiet time to read and being in his own room without falling blinds or the worry of trouble coming up downstairs at any moment as it had been earlier in the week. There was still the potential for trouble. A phone call could have shaken him from his quiet place at any time. But it was miles away rather than dangling over his head and into his mind.

That reminded him... He dug in his bag he'd brought home for his lyric notebook. He'd made progress on a few the day Patt was out and nobody else could get it together, but there was still a lot that needed adding to. Ideally, either he'd get into it and get work done, or it would get him bored enough to feel like going to sleep. If nerves didn't get to him.

_It's getting somewhere. At least I can say I tried._

.....

While his energy was still up and before the effect of staying up most of the night with only a two hour nap could kick in, Glenn ended up running the dishwasher with the hope he wouldn't end up needing to run it again until the night before Don came back. That and making a few notes to himself following his night awake was all he got done before lack of sleep fed into more muscle spasms that made it hard to stand, and he crashed in his bed to enjoy the feeling of fresh sheets for four hours. Once he woke up feeling functional again, it left him with another evening to spend -this one with the run of the house.

_So, were you planning on writing and jamming tonight, or watching something?_

"I was thinking about one of those movies Don had I hadn't really seen, and I would like to watch that sometime this week, but that office-"

_Writing?_

"It's what I'd like, but to be honest, I'm not really sure what I'd like to write," Glenn complained. "Last night was just playing around. I wrote some things down I thought I might find useful later, but it's up in the air."

_Well, whether you manage to come up with anything or not, I'll hang out. Remember how we would stay up all night when we were living together to work things out? Sometime we'll have camp out in there just for fun like we did-_

"That's what we'll do tonight, Tommy!" Glenn ran down to his room. His muscle spasms still came in clusters when he tried to do anything much more strenuous than walking or a quick climb up the stairs, and he visibly struggled getting down the hall, catching himself in the door frame when one of his knees nearly gave out. 

_Look out! Oh- I guess I've done it now!_

He was dragging his blanket and pillow in one hand and his bass in the other, and the gait he took to struggle up the stairs in one trip with them was priceless. Or, Glenn figured it must have been, since he could hear Tommy laughing over it.

After the two minute struggle up the steps, he pulled the pillows off the couch in the lounge room and started setting everything up on the floor of the office.

_You know you gotta put it back... Because I can't!_

"I probably will in the morning. Maybe you could remind me if I don't?"

_Sure thing._

Soon enough, Glenn had settled in the office. He sat in one of the chairs with his bass and on the floor he'd spread out the couch cushions on the floor with his blanket and pillow as a makeshift sleeping pad for later.

_We probably shouldn't sit up as late as we would unless if you start getting ideas you want to go for. You already were kind of tired today and you're getting shaky again._

"No, I know I can't do another all nighter right now. And I want to be able to get up mid-morning. If I think I can handle it, I might go walking about tomorrow. I'm not sure how far I can manage, but it will be a start."

_I guess you can tell me how much you remember. The rest of it that you can't, I'll get to show to you again. Biggest difference will be I won't be able to lead you there myself._

"Well, we can still talk about it -it might pull it back too. And my hope is I'll make it to all ends of the city with the help of the car by the end of the summer." Glenn tried to list in his head the places he did remember and roughly locate them in relationship to each other, and fidgeted his fingers across his bass strings as he did as if walking them across a map.

_Whenever you're ready, Glenn, I'll be._

A few hours later, Glenn was vaguely aware of the sensation of the window air conditioning unit blowing a gentle, cool breeze through his hair as he lay stretched out on the cushions on the floor. The view he had of the amp across the room flickered in and out with vague images of walking and driving through L.A., along with other places which Tommy was eager to tell about. In the patches he caught of L.A., he could see Tommy a step ahead of him, smiling and motioning for him to come quick toward some place that was too fuzzy to make out, until the images finally swirled into the darkness to pull him in the dream state for the night.

...

Don woke up feeling better rested the next morning, and with a quiet start to himself, felt as ready as he could for everyone until he could see how it started to have a better idea of how well or how badly it could go over. 

John arrived up the driveway first, with Peter following right behind him in his car. As he got up to the house and stopped behind Don's car, seeing Don tending to plants on the front porch, he began laughing facetiously.

"Aw, damn it! I couldn't tell until I was up here -I was hoping Mikkey got here ahead of us and be closest to the house in the driveway. I guess Peter and I will help him out when he does arrive-"

John jumped a foot in the air as a loud blast of a car horn rang out behind them.

Peter turned around and tossed his hands up. "Of course!" 

"Maybe if you two had looked in your rear view mirrors to see I joined following you two turns back!" Mikkey climbed out of his car. "It's fine; I spend enough time going at my drums that I have the strength to carry them!"

"No, we'll help you get them in with fewer trips so that setting up doesn't take all day!" John hung his guitar and pickup cord over his shoulder so they hung on his back, and proceeded with Peter to help Mikkey carry drums inside.

"You all still have more out in your cars though. I'd have carried some of that, but they weren't going to fit with these!"

"As long as we've got everything." John looked over his shoulder as Don headed over to Mikkey's car to help. "Where is Billy?"

Don looked past Mikkey's car over the stack of framework he'd picked up. "I think that's him coming up from the street right now; he's got his truck."

"I TOLD you he was gonna be the last one here!" Peter pointed his index finger emphatically to the sky. "Didn't I, John?"

"Yeah, yeah... you did. Bringin' up the rear, Billy?"

Billy was cranking down the window as he hit the brake and shifted out of gear to park behind Mikkey.

"Aw man, I'm getting ragged on before I even get here! I got caught in traffic-"

"Or you slept until the last minute, but that's alright." John finally took pity on him. "You go ahead and get everything out of your truck; we gotta help Mikkey get things inside and come back out."

Billy grabbed his guitar and amp from the cab, and picked up the last drum Mikkey had in his car before heading to the house.

"So why the truck today?" Don was suspicious of Billy having the tall bed cover on his truck and still stashing his guitar in the front seat with him.

"I'm hauling more than just my gear for us today." Billy set his load down and they all began walking back out to the driveway. "We all brought some extra things, and I agreed to transport."

"But I already have everything else in the house that we need."

"That's the point, Don," said John. "Since you're contributing the space and a fair amount of equipment, we brought a few things that aren't equipment, but for you."

Don tried not to look thrown -he wasn't used to whatever _this_ was being a regular thing, and it was making him feel on the spot -not something he enjoyed, and one of the reasons why he found himself not often liking surprises.

"Okay?"

"To be honest, some of it we might all end up using together."

Don laughed uneasily. "Oh, _now_ I see how it is." He blew out a sigh. "Alright, well, before we all get locked down in there, unless you planned otherwise, let's unload the truck now."

"I'll help with the one." Mikkey made his way around the back of the truck with Billy. He pulled out a flat box. "Are we taking it inside and unpacking, or checking it out right here?"

"I don't know. Don?" Billy looked over to him.

"Whatever you all want to do. I wasn't expecting this -you know what, let's go inside," Don decided. He inwardly swore at himself for getting so internally worked up at a simple surprise probably made in genuine good fun.

"Okay. Peter, get yours, because he's gonna know what it is before we get in the house." Billy pulled some sort of sports-like mini duffle bag out and slung it over his shoulder, giving himself free hands to close up the truck and carry the box in with Mikkey.

"Alright." Peter reached in the back of the truck bed and came out with a plant pot and young plant that had vertical leaves sticking up from the dirt, looking a combination of palm and cactus leaf.

"It's a 'snake plant' as they call it -I put it in a pot with a thicker base and it's got a wheel basket for travel, so we can take it to the studio with us when we have to go in for editing and final cuts -make it feel more like home," John explained. "Peter and I thought you might enjoy that; you like plants. And it can go without water a good time while you're not here, so he chose it and I set it up to be portable."

Momentarily lost for words, Don took the plant from Peter, looking at it as they waited for Billy to close up his tailgate and then began walking back toward the house. Five sturdy, healthy leaves emerged from the soil, and the start of more showed in the center. John and Peter either knew the breed well enough, or they'd looked it up, because it was planted in a larger grain soil with lots of gravel stone between to allow proper drainage for a plant that needed minimal water.

He could remember so few moments in which his three bandmates had done something that had made him feel touched in any way as now too. Only one of them had regularly, and even that had declined to the end.

"So, a plant that's set to travel," he finally murmured as they got up to the porch. "That's really cool. I like it."

Peter held the front door open, and they made their way through to the room Don had dedicated to writing and studio equipment. It was a conservatory type room with a lot of big windows on the exterior wall, and the snake plant joined the rubber tree and overgrown slit-leaf philodendron already there.

Now he could say he had a new plant at home that wasn't replacing something so far this year.

"Alright, we might want to do this one before we go in there, and before I start setting drums up out here in the open space." Mikkey was referring to where Don had pushed chairs and the couch around the coffee table to sit around and work at. Not an ideal place to go wrestling a large, narrow box around.

"Gee, do I _want_ to know what you've got in there? Now I know why you all needed a truck!"

"I don't think it'll harm you. It didn't harm Billy since the time I left it in his truck a week ago," Mikkey joked. 

It was a three by four foot chalkboard with a stand. This time, Don was less caught off guard to feel excited for it. He could see how that would be useful for them if they ended up wanting to edit lyrics or plan a set list together. Definitely easier than crowding around a piece of paper on the table for something they all needed to see at once -and far better than repeating it over and over again to each other if they couldn't all see it, which just the thought of played with Don's blood pressure.

"And I have a pack of chalk for that in my guitar case when I get to it." John turned around. "Hey, Billy, you never told me. What do you have in _there?"_

"Something to have fun with later," explained Billy with a sheepish grin. He opened the bag he'd carried in to reveal what looked like hollow, plastic whiffle balls without holes, and threw one at an unsuspecting Mikkey, who held up his drumsticks together in front of his face like a shield. Miraculously, he managed to block it, and it bounced off the stick, on John's guitar and provoking a noise from the instrument, and finally onto the floor. It rolled under the couch for one of them to retrieve later.

Peter laughed. "Great going, Mikkey."

"I can see it now; you all are gonna have them flying around in here knocking stuff down and making a mess..." Don trailed off and smirked. He was only partially joking.

Peter raised an eyebrow. "Well, we'll have fun anyway and clean up afterward." 

"We're gonna play with _balls!"_ The suggestive look Billy sprung on his face as he put emphasis on 'balls' was priceless, especially when he could hardly keep it straight to finish saying it, at which point he lost his cool and erupted.

John and Mikkey groaned, following suite as Don and Peter joined Billy in wheezing laughter, and this time, Don couldn't even pretend to laugh out of being facetious. So much of the immature joking around in Dokken he'd been left out of, and time and time again it had been turned against him, and whether it was the thrill of being in on it for once, or being caught off guard by the particular pun Billy had made, it was funnier to him than he was proud to admit.

"Bill-leee!" John shook his head, holding his sides.

"I know! I'm sorry. I'm three!"

"Or maybe you're two," quipped Peter, "because-"

"-Oh, _no!"_

"Alright, kids; that's enough!" Mikkey roared, snatching a ball from the bag and throwing it hard at Peter, inciting laughter through the room again. He dodged it with his bass.

John groaned again. "Lord, have mercy. Yeah, with that, we've got fucking kindergarten in here -which means we're in for a good time! We've lost our focus too. Don, are we ready?"

"Whenever you all are, and unless anyone has any big ideas to contribute, I'm fine to pick up with what we mentioned on the phone the other night." Don breathed deeply and got serious, opening his notepad while Mikkey finished setting up his drums and the others plugged in to practice amps.

If he'd needed a good sign as to how they might end up getting along with each other, he was able enough to take their immediate joking around in the driveway and getting settled as one.

_This is gonna be fun._

And fun, they did have. Even when Billy had to adjust a riff on the first song of focus to get it to lock in better with the guitar parts John had, there was no arguing. There _was_ an impromptu jam as they tried playing around with variations to get it to fit together, which ramped up into the two trying to out-shred each other, but even that seemed mostly in good fun. 

Mikkey started cheering on John and jumped on his drums with a basic beat to help them keep rhythm. Peter countered by cheering on Billy, but attempting to join on bass wasn't working out quite as well for him, as they'd taken off into an entirely different key and become too unpredictable to fit a bass line to. So he joined Don in clapping and air-drumming (the drive home had finally broken Don's two-year aversion to the habit) along until John bounced his leg too emphatically, stepped on his cord, and unplugged his guitar.

"Damn it!"

"We'll have a rematch later this week," promised Billy as they got back on track with deciding what they liked best and then playing it over so that Peter could work into it and come up with an official bass line. 

Peter had an interesting style. He was versatile and could go for the basic chug on a note with the rhythm when it was called for, but could make slow, pondering lines that jumped large gaps between notes and slides up and down strings work on songs that were up-tempo. He almost played his bass like a guitar, but had a different sort of feel than a guitarist-turned bassist to his movements and tone, and while he created spots in his lines where the bass practically had a low counter-melody, he didn't carry it all the way through -something more suitable for prog than what Don was trying to get at. It wasn't a predictable style, but Peter was making it all click together, and Don found himself intrigued in watching just to see what he did.

After four hours of getting instrumental lines together, John declared break-time before they began second-guessing what sounded fine, or overthinking how to produce lines by focusing on them too long. The spent a couple of hours of downtime having lunch and finally all being able to have a conversation together in person, rather than passing information to each other by phone or meeting up in groups of two or three. 

Don set up Mikkey's chalkboard, having figured out a way it could help them out.

"We're working on 'When Some Nights' today -and any of these titles are subject to change, so we can erase them as needed. I want to work on 'Mirror Mirror' tomorrow if we can, because we-" Don pointed to Billy "-talked about it on the phone last night so I could give you the lyrics and it's still up front in our minds-"

"-And he did all the riffs on that one you told me about, so unlike today where we wrote our counterparts and adjusted, I have no idea what he's done and I gotta figure out where I'm working into this." John nodded his confirmation. "That is one we probably should get to sooner. Though if we don't get to it this week, next time I want to do 'A Thousand Miles Away' -or '1,000' if we change it to that."

That one. Don winced. John had worked out some extensive guitar parts to expand or whittle down as they saw fit in the production process. The lyrics he'd written that John had added to were ones he'd written while hungover just a month after the end of Dokken when he was first coming fully out of shock. They were lyrics that needed to be used and shared, but they were also lyrics he wasn't looking forward to singing quite yet.

Mikkey leaned back on the couch. "Well, if we keep going at the rate we're at, I don't see why we won't have a chance to take at least a quick look at it before we split for a few days."

To the left side of the chalkboard, Don wrote down the three song titles.

"Those aren't in any particular order, and it can change, because for all I know, we'll finish setting up in here tomorrow and "Mirror Mirror" will be the last thing we want to talk about, and I'll probably be the one to do that if any of us do."

"Oh, I might too," agreed John. "'Miles' is a slower one; I might not want to do it either when we get to it. But if we're not sure what to do, having a few up there rather than a whole list of tentative titles or what Billy numbered some of his riffs will be easier to decide from. Peter? Mikkey? Do either of you have anything Don or Billy have shown us that you'd like to make note of?"

"Nope," said Mikkey. "I'm up to just about anything as long as we have fun doing it."

Peter's eyebrows lowered and his lips pulled back with anticipation. "Ooh, 'Crashing and Burning' if we get to it. I've been listening to Billy's riff tape track he mailed me -I've got some ideas down I'm excited to show you all!"

"'Crashing and Burning'. Okay." Don wrote it down, abbreviating it as 'Crash and Burn,' and questioning whether he liked it better that way.

Billy stood up and wrote down on the top right side of the board the phone number and address for their main engineer and producer, Wyn Davis.

"I don't know, but by tomorrow, we may already have a phone call to make and some tracks to send!"

"And that's a good idea, because you know I'm gonna get fed up quick if I have to dig that number out from God knows where every time I need it-"

"Or you could just _ask_ , Don; Mikkey and I have it too!" laughed John.

"-True... Anyway, if there's anything having to do with what we're tentatively doing as a group, we can put it up here. That way, we can all see it, there's no two of us have one thing and three of us have another and playing phone tag, and nobody can argue about not knowing that part, because it's here unless we decide together to change it. And I'm not erasing anything unless we're all here -I'll only add more options." Don found himself frustrated that he couldn't help but see the board as part of a way to avoid conflict rather than solely for keeping them all on the same page with making decisions.

"Alright, that looks good enough for the week," said Mikkey, starting to stack up empty drink glasses and plates. "Are we finished and ready to get back?"

"Yep." Peter grabbed one of the stacks to help. "We have about an hour and a half left of what we planned, unless we want to stay late -and that's up to you, Don."

"We'll see how we're feeling. For now, let's get this in the dishwasher and clean up in here, and if we're done making changes, I'll bring the portable unit in so we can start recording lines. I might work on some vocals tonight for you all to listen to tomorrow, but I won't make any promises on that."

"Well," Billy's eyes glanced sheepishly to each of them, "I don't know about you guys, but unless I get an 'I'm not going to bed 'til it's done' kind of idea, I'm probably not doing too much at home tonight either!"

"Deal!"

It wasn't until three days of working together had passed that Don ended up working alone. The fourth day of the week was the fifth of the month, and Don hit the road at 10:00 in the morning to duck into L.A. in the gap between morning rush hour and noon-time where traffic was only semi-insane. 

He contemplated the lyrics to "Mirror Mirror" through the whole drive in. 

They'd nearly finished "When Some Nights" and had made phone calls to Wyn yesterday about it before they shifted focus. Peter was taking their tapes to him today so that they could find out what was good to put into production, and what would need to be rerecorded on the studio equipment Geffen had to get the proper sound. 

Now they were back at the start of the process, only with "Mirror Mirror," when John started working into Billy's riff, he'd seen fit for some lyric adjustments on the verses. They'd all worked with Don on that, and he was happy with them, but he just couldn't get them to sound right in his mind over the guitar parts with the melody he'd heard before. It was determined to stay in the front of his head and drive him crazy too, even when Patt was talking to him and the words were hardly registering. All he'd picked up on was that they'd gone in their main studio and officially recorded one of their songs with the recreated live effects, it had worked out well and might work on another track once they figured it out, but they'd need to come up with another plan for this other one, and they had a new idea, and...

He decided for certain that if he didn't get it right, he'd have to call somebody to discuss it with tonight, and there he found more indecision as to who to get. John, Billy, Peter, Mikkey -or possibly someone else from the production team. Possibly Wyn.

"You know, we were struggling with something the other day -not yesterday, but the day before -we were struggling with something we're writing from scratch," Patt began again. "We scrapped a track we haven't started on yet and just decided it wasn't what we wanted to do. Tony wasn't feeling it and Mark got fed up, you know-"

"I get the idea."

"Terry and I were going to call you, but I didn't bring the phone book with your home number, so Terry decided to call your house out here to see if Glenn was home to ask him for it. He was quite eager to talk to all of us."

"Oh, was he?" Don's attention finally landed itself on Patt. "I guess that's not really a surprise -Glenn's a people person, and he sure does enjoy himself on the phone when he wants to. He knows you all too, from your last album -he helped."

"And he helped us out on this one too -over the phone, sang and played back with us on the line for five minutes and offered to come in if we needed him again. It was just the right thing to get us on with it. It's a shame though;he helped some on our last project when he was mostly in Atlanta, and he could hardly remember any of that. I know you said he's been having a tough time."

Don exhaled huffily through his nose, blowing a breeze through his bangs.

"Tough would be an understatement for last week. I guess he's holding his own now -I'm on my way to check in with him now."

He called Glenn before leaving the studio to make sure he wouldn't scare him if he was asleep or having any leftover paranoid problems.

"H'llo?"

"What's going on, Glenn?"

"I'm feeling a little sad today." Don didn't need to be told with how meek and quiet Glenn sounded. Never mind what for, he was headed there anyway.

"Well, Patt and I are finished in the studio, so I'll be stopping in pretty soon. You need me to pick anything up from the store before I get there?"

"No, I went yesterday." So he'd at least made it that far from the house; things couldn't be melting down entirely if he had.

"Alright then." Don wasted no time getting out to the car from there, but found himself wasting time driving slower than he needed to when he lost himself thinking on the lyrics again and what it would take to make them sound right.

_"Mirror mirror on the wall,_  
Seven years, I survived them all.  
Mirror mirror tell me more,  
If this was love, then love is war." 

If Patt asked Glenn for help on his project, he decided that he would too. Maybe it would pull Glenn out of whatever had pulled him down.

_Heh, who am I kidding? I could have seen this one coming._ It was the longest time sustained mostly alone Glenn had had since leaving Atlanta, and the same being alone that had exacerbated his struggle there. Maybe he could see if Glenn would be interested in contributing, and making some phone calls back and forth with John and the others. _THAT could be good-_

The person behind Don lay on and blasted their car horn for two solid seconds because he didn't notice the light turning green the very second it had.

"Oh for fuck's sake, there's hardly a free car length in front of me yet even if I had noticed," Don grumbled, kicking back into gear and accelerating forward and not caring that the driver behind him couldn't see or hear him. "Go ahead and knock the plane out of the sky when it's finally climbing somewhere good!"

When he turned into the cul de sac and pulled up in front of the house, Glenn was already waiting for him, sitting with his bass out on the front steps. His posture and the look on his face made him resemble a scolded puppy.

"That bad?" Don mused through the open window as he parked and shut the engine off. As he got out of the car and made his way toward the steps, Glenn suddenly ran forward and caught him in an abrupt hug that he was neither expecting, nor ready for.

"Okay -geez, you weren't kidding!" Don winced, backed up and tugged his shirt down where it got hiked up by the force of Glenn's exuberance. "I'm here now. I'll be here for a few hours; it's okay."

"I was fine for the first three days you were gone, I promise!" Glenn insisted. "I don't know what happened!"

"Yeah, I know how that works. All the time on the road, just when you think everything's going alright, go figure." Don frowned. "And this is the fourth day again. I dunno, there might be something going there, because last week-"

"Well whatever it is, it's gotta go!"

"No shit." Don pulled the door open. "Let's see if we can't distract you from it and go from there. We'll make some coffee and figure something out."

Glenn all but ran inside the house after him, and didn't sit easy until they were both at the kitchen table with mugs.

Don raised his eyebrows and gave Glenn the side-eye from over the rim of his mug. "Been up to much?"

"I did watch some things up here."

"Which ones?"

"I watched a couple of the old music show recordings you had, and then it was-" Glenn perked up "-oh yes! I watched that _Indiana Jones._ Toward the ending it got intense, and it's not what I'd usually go for, but I quite liked the sense of adventure there!"

"Well, I'm bringing a few other tapes with me when I come back for next week. More options that might do better with you."

"I had a chat on the phone with Terry and Patt the other day. Tony too -he seems quite nice. I nearly forgot how Patt is to talk with, and that Paul Monroe is funny! He was teasing Terry and trying to imitate everything he sang."

"Oh, I'm sure." Don smirked and shook his head. Those two. Nothing but trouble when they got going.

Glenn nodded. "I also went to the store, and I tried to do some walking. I tried to get to the beach by the access point just down the back road here. It's not too far to get there, but I haven't yet gone down onto it because I'm afraid I'll not be able to climb back up." He seemed to run out of things to say there.

"What's it been like out there? Am I allowed to ask?"

That question led to Don finding himself up in the office with Glenn (which Glenn had put back in order from his first night alone) discussing their progress and playing a line from the portable track recorder he kept in his car.

"I added in a bit to the lyrics, John suggested some changes to the verse lyrics, and I like them better. It says what I want a bit more, I wouldn't call it more clearly, but it fits and flows together better. But now singing it, I can't get it to sound the way I want anymore since we did that."

"You could go forceful if you wanted to and try singing parts of it on an alternate harmony up or down until you find some combination that does it for you," Glenn mused, looking over the lyrics and listening as Don repeated Billy's track on the portable recorder. "Sounds like it's got a kind of feel -I wouldn't call it aggressive or vengeful, just sort of... angry isn't the right word either."

"A little bitter, to be honest," Don admitted. "Maybe a little more than that. Bitter, and I'm not sure what to call the rest of it."

"Disappointed? Betrayed?"

"Close. Possibly, but it still isn't hitting it right where it is."

"Disillusioned?" Glenn traced Don's handwriting with his fingertips, squinting at the scrawl.

"You know, I never thought of it that way, but that works too."

Glenn's eyes lit up. "This isn't something you just came up with, is it?"

"It's from an experience, if that's where you're going." Don startled internally. _Oh, great; we just opened the box and now he's gonna start digging in it._ Though he knew he'd end up spilling it eventually.

"Doesn't really have to do with just one person, but it's not a generalization either."

"Yeah."

"I know. It's having to do with your time with your bandmates."

Don was reluctant, but it was the one thing he hadn't tried in avoiding it. Maybe, he hoped, it would close the gap in what he needed to do to make this song click.

"Of course it does."

"If I remember correctly, which I'll be honest, we know that's a pretty big if! -it was your guitarist you were known to have the most difficulties with in Dokken-"

"Yes, George was the most notorious." Don sighed. "We all had a few problems between us, but in terms of actual fighting, I did the most with him."

"Did you two have any main stylistic differences?"

"He usually wanted to do things heavier than I always wanted to. I like going heavy, but I like to do other things too. I want it to be meaningful and have moods going, and- ai-yi-yi; I don't know what I want in this one..."

"Well, my understanding is you tended to prefer the ballads, and you've been singing it straight-forward and aggressive. In theory, one would say that makes sense if it's a song of it's nature. But if it's written at someone who wouldn't like ballads, maybe it's more satisfying if you do it that way out of spite," Glenn quipped.

Don choked on his remaining coffee. Still having his mug up, he was able to keep most of the spray contained, but he still had to lean over the desk and grab a tissue to prevent the chair or his clothes from becoming minor casualties.

"Glenn!" he strained between coughs, wiping up the mess.

"But then it's true!" Glenn leaned back in his chair as he laughed. The amusement was so great that Don couldn't stay upset, and he broke out laughing too as he went through his room to pour the tainted coffee down the bathroom sink.

"Oh," he groaned, sitting back down on his return. "I like the way you think."

"There's nothing wrong with releasing the wit to get back at somebody -I only wish I'd done that more often rather than pitching a fit and getting myself and others hurt."

"You know me; I don't need encouraging in that department. But, if we're gonna do it that way, I might as well go all the way then." Don made a quick note at the top of his lyric page to try it in ballad style. Slowing it down and going easier, maybe adding some vocal harmonies... that _did_ fit the detached state he'd been in.

"You sometimes act like even though you had trouble with George, it wasn't as bad as it was sometimes made out to be in public." Glenn tried to catch Don's gaze. "Why?"

"Well... for one, I should have known George would have been the trouble, since he was right from the start," Don admitted. "I did know from the time Juan Croucier had to pull us off of each other in the back of a cab -and that wasn't cool on either of our parts. But he was too good a guitar player for me to get rid of him just for that. If he'd chosen to leave, then I'd have let him and figured out something. I wasn't stopping him from it -he might have left if he'd gotten in with Ozzy. And he wants to call me a control freak, but I wasn't going to tell him to leave by force either. Nobody did anything specifically to make anyone leave. Until we just all sort of left at once, because we were too far out of control to keep it together even if we'd wanted to."

Glenn leaned back in his seat and rested his chin in his hand, leaning sideways in his chair against the armrest so that he stared toward Don at an angle, listening intently.

"It got so bad toward the end of our touring for Under Lock and Key. I think that tour -we had the European tour fiasco that ended with us leaving early, and that was only part of it -we had just done so many things and it dragged out so long with too many back to back nights that even if we weren't as prone to arguing as we were, we'd have still been having trouble. It was way too much. Actually, we had a break before Back for the Attack, because we'd been on the road so long that we'd demoed the whole album with the exception of one song, and we had a few actual tracks we used on our portable unit. That helped a lot, and when we went back on tour for it, George and I were actually doing pretty well. _For us_ -we still had a few moments, but it wasn't to the point of saying the wrong thing meant a whole day of back and forth. Maybe a little, but we could sit in the same lounge on the bus and not have a showdown.

"But by halfway through that tour, things were falling apart from the other end. Our bass player, Jeff, his addiction was getting out of hand, and we were realizing we weren't doing another studio album before stopping or at least going on some long hiatus, and with that realization, I don't know if it was because it didn't matter anymore, or I think it was inevitable anyway -it just blew up. And there was the fighting, those three were getting high to not think about it, I was drinking myself into a stupor every night so I could stop the anxiety and go to sleep without thinking about it. All of those things were getting us on edge, so we got testy with each other again. We hit a point where we said at the end of the tour, that was it. I think it even started as just a threat, but none of us were going to back off of it, and then we got to where we had to regardless. Still, that was just the beginning -ending it after that tour took so long, it got really nasty with the legal stuff. That was the one time I really did wish he had either up and left, or that I had put him out."

"I don't know how that works out entirely, but I do know how it works if the guitarist does up and leave and you get someone else, so I can see that." Glenn nodded. "I suppose it had the same ending in terms of the band. I was lucky enough that it granted someone good to me personally."

"And maybe we could have done that if we'd done it sooner, but we were done with each other and it would have crashed anyway. Actually, it might have worked for everyone but me and I'd still be here where I am now. The others -George especially would talk about doing it with Jeff -wanted to do their own thing without me. Said they could go on without me." Don rolled his eyes up toward the ceiling and snorted loud and sarcastically as he could. "Imagine that if they'd kicked me out of the band I formed and let them into -it would have been a fucking riot. Not as much as taking the rights to my own name though."

"Jeff was your bass player, right?"

"Yeah. Funny thing how we found him the way we did. Kid was in a place so hidden away. Insanely energetic-"

"I think I'd seen it -always jumping around the stage like someone lit his feet on fire." Glenn chuckled. "I think that's so interesting, when someone has that kind of energy onstage."

"That was Jeff. I don't think we'd seen somebody fantasize over rock and roll so much and get so hyper over it. He could all but kill you with kindness too."

"But then that doesn't make sense, to what I remember," argued Glenn. "What happened with him then? Because if he was so kind -I can hardly picture him from what I've heard of him doing such a thing or suggesting it."

Don sighed. The question was out there; he was best to answer it and clear it. After that, he was done. Glenn might be feeling done after it too -at least he hoped.

"Jeff was- I don't know how to describe him. He was the one who I'd have done anything to protect if I could have done it; done anything to see him do well -and he did until drugs got in the way. He was great, but he was near impossible to work with toward the end because he'd melt down in the studio and be too high to play. Or he'd lock himself up on the road somewhere with a bunch of coke and a bottle of wine, half delirious and scared of everyone. He passed out some of those times -we'd get in and find him in sleep so hard it took minutes on end to wake him up. And he'd always scare me because I thought I was going to find him one day and we wouldn't be able to wake him up."

Glenn sat up and folded his arms in. A knowing look settled uneasily on him.

"Actually, it wasn't from drugs that time near the end of Lock and Key, but there was one night he was so ill - _so ill_ and we almost couldn't wake him up then." Don winced. "I nearly forgot about that night. Ugh, that was really, really rough. I'd better get off that thought and back where I was.

"He's the one who was the worst. He was the most ungrateful, he had the biggest problem, he added to the problem with George and I when we'd have problems with him, because George would get so overprotective of him. And Glenn, you know me. If I'm going to say anything at all, I say what I think, plain and simple, and I don't have shame over it. I can say whatever I want and I don't care if it upsets someone. That's their problem. But this is one of the few things I struggle with, because I saw Jeff like a little brother. I could hardly care less what he thinks of me saying it, or anyone else, or that George will always mean more to him, but I wish it wasn't him I had to say it about. And that's enough. I don't want to dwell on it too much. I already do enough in my head against my will, so that's enough."

"You haven't mentioned your drummer," noted Glenn. "I've heard he's quite the riot. What was he like?"

"That's a conversation for another day. I've hit my limit for now."

"But was he-?"

"I'm _not_ ready to talk about him, Glenn."

Don's expression was blank. His tone had gone flat and uninviting. On the surface he was intimidating, but Glenn could see and hear the pain hidden behind it and didn't dare dig any further. 

A damper clamped down on his curiosity, both inside and out.

"Oh," he whispered.

"One day I'll get there. You'll enjoy some of those stories. Maybe I will too. It's just not where I want to look right now. I've got four guys with me, and they've been really great this week. Mikkey Dee is a cool guy, and Billy's a stitch." Don shook his head and inwardly groaned at all the goofing around Billy had already started between them. "I think you'd get along best with John though."

"So am I onboard to contribute by phone?" Glenn leaned forward in his seat, still quieter than before, but anticipating.

"I've already given you the choice, Glenn. I already get to call the shots on vocals and we're not under someone else's control with demos, so there's no reason the others will have a problem." _And for once, I don't see anyone having a problem for no reason other than wanting to,_ Don silently added. "It's your decision now -if you feel up to it and you want to or not."

Glenn thought on it.

He'd already figured out this morning following three days of freedom to sing and play bass at any time he wanted that the reason he could jam out but not get any ideas was that he'd been out of a project for so long -at least out of large ones, and the small ones just didn't stick with him to stimulate his creativity when he was under the snow. That had frustrated him into putting his bass back in it's case in the morning. It had stopped snowing, but he was still up to his ears in it, and stuck under a writer's block.

Now he saw a way out.

"I'm up to trying."


	10. Up From the Ashes, Up From the Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The recording of Up From the Ashes is in full swing, and Glenn finds himself onboard as a contributor -and taking a trip up to Don's house for a night of recording and antics. Things are finally looking up for Don, but nothing is certain yet.

It was said that time flew when one was having fun.

Don had always seen it as time flew when time wanted to get away from somebody, and time dragged on when it wanted to torture somebody, and in any other case, time did whatever the hell it wanted to do. And Don simply tried to keep up with it the best he could when it was flying too fast for him, and tried to occupy his mind when it went too slow.

However, for once, he could now see some truth in the more popular statement.

The day after his check in town, Don had extra time before getting back to work to talk to John and Billy about his conversation with Glenn. Part of which was due to Peter and Mikkey being in traffic. 

"There was an accident on the other side of the freeway backed up before the exit they come into," Billy explained, having approached from the other direction and in the clear. "If I'm here and they're not, it could be awhile."

"That's alright. Hang out with us on the porch while we figure this out." John explained what Don had already mentioned on Glenn's suggestions for "Mirror, Mirror" and the possibility that Glenn could work with them.

"I could hear that working." Billy poked at his unplugged guitar's strings, forming the main progression. "We did decide to dampen the guitars during the verses on that too, so having it like a power ballad might balance the sound back out too. Because that was the problem we had the other day -liking the guitar sound better, but then it didn't fit-"

"I personally am onboard to have him around. I think it'd be cool," said John. "I would just recommend that if we end up having Glenn work with us beyond writing and demos, do that on songs we haven't done much with yet, so there's not a complete shuffle of what we've done."

"No, what's done is done. I still have vocals only half-written with no idea whatsoever how I'm applying them, and you and Billy still have a good number of riffs to figure out. We can work out what hasn't been already."

"His voice has recovered from that injury?" asked Billy.

"Been recovered, and if he keeps getting clean, which is why I have him with me -he was singing like a champ the morning I left. I _wish_ I could sing like that first thing in the morning without warming up."

"Try out a few vocal demos with him for one of the guitar parts we've put together," suggested John. "You could bring tapes back here we could decide from. I wouldn't mind meeting him on the phone either."

Before anyone knew it, the rest of the week went by with the completion of "Mirror, Mirror" aside from vocal tracks that would need to be recorded in sound controlled rooms at the studio for the effects they wanted. 

Perhaps they'd have gotten more done, but the majority of their abbreviated time together on the eighth slipped away when Peter broke a bass string, and while he was changing it, Billy got everyone running around the room throwing balls at each other, and John erased the half of the chalkboard that didn't need to be kept up long term to make random doodles with it.

"Oh, great going, Billy," teased Peter. "We've lost our focus and now it's _gone!"_

"It's the end of the week; it was going to _be_ gone anyway!" Don slung a plastic ball across the room, which Mikkey managed to kick with his foot, only to get it landed in the upper branches of the ponytail palm.

"Alright, you put it there; now put it back!"

By the time they finished for the day and got everything cleaned up and put back, between feeling more energetic than usual after a writing and recording session and knowing that Glenn might not be feeling well after his doctor's appointment on the ninth, Don had made the decision to drive back to the city before sundown. However, leaving home for another week was far from putting a pause on the project. Don had tracks with more guitar parts Billy had worked out, to see if he could think of something to go to it as a possibility. With only five definite songs planned and a notebook full of lyrics he'd had yet to use, he knew _something_ had to work.

It started early on the morning of the tenth when Don was in the office with his eight track, following what had been a rough night on the ninth he and Glenn had ended early. 

Sure enough, Glenn needed Don to drive him home from the cardiologist, and the whole evening to recover. He'd had scans which had required fasting and an intravenous injection of contrast solution. Said combination proved itself nauseous and Glenn spent the car ride curled up and shivering with the urge to be sick and nothing in him to do it with. If there was a saving grace for the discomfort, it was that his instantaneous results showed improvement, which meant a fair level of hope that his lab results would come back in a week looking good too.

He'd managed to get comfortable enough to sleep by camping out for the night on the couch with some old _Marx Brothers_ VHS tapes Don had brought back with him, not knowing they'd serve their purpose as a good distraction quite as soon as they did. Bouncing back upon waking up around 8:00, Glenn proceeded to take the tapes back up to the office once he'd washed up and finally gotten something to stay in his stomach.

"Better?" asked Don, turning around to Glenn in his bathrobe and shorts with three VHS cases and a coffee mug.

"Lots. I'm putting these back until I'm ready to watch them awake. What I did see of it was enjoyable."

Don opened the drawer. "I brought some of _The Three Stooges_ too. I like the _Marx Brothers_ myself, but those are good too if you prefer them."

"As long as it's good and funny." Glenn put the tapes back and examined a cover on one of Stooges' tapes. "Thank God it's going to be another _five_ months instead of three before I have to do that again! That's still not to say I'm not thankful to have made it to be doing it now."

"Just remember that every time it sucks; there are more ways than you realize that it can suck worse."

Glenn pointed a finger up in agreement. "And don't ever ask how either!" 

"Hell, no." Don hit the pause on the guitar track, pulled off his headphones, and sighed. Though Billy had inspired it, this particular guitar line was his own, which only served the add insult to the conundrum it had landed him with.

"I don't know, Glenn, I'm stuck but good on this song. What do you think?"

Glenn perked up and set his mug of coffee down on the desk. "What are you trying to do?"

"This guitar part. The other day, Billy was scatting around and came up with this little run on the acoustic, and then I built on it until it became something. I want to put these lyrics on it, and I'll be damned if I can come up with a vocal melody I like before I've erased this track a hundred times. It's this slow ballad style, and I can't even decide where I want to go low or high."

"Can I see the headphones?"

Don handed them over, and Glenn stood listening with his eyes closed, swaying from his hips for a moment before picking up the microphone and switching onto a separate track.

"Okay, let me just scat with it." 

Don watched in amazement -not that he wasn't already blown away by what Glenn could do -seeing him right before his own eyes clear his throat noisily and instantly cut loose without warming up. Singing all kinds of the craziest gibberish in the lack of lyrics to look at and still making it sound great somehow. He went through several variations of high and low notes each time the guitar track replayed, tossing his free hand out in the air beside himself with great enthusiasm, and with the slow, sorrowful tune it was, Don was certain it would have been heart-wrenching had it not been for how great the spectacle itself was.

"Think you could continue and improvise off any of that?" Glenn finally stopped, breathed deeply, and took a long drink from his mug. His cheeks were flushed pink -somewhat pale for exertion, but a much healthier color than what he'd been the last week Don had been in the city.

Don tossed up his hands. 

"Glenn, how-? You just _do it._ I mean, there was a time I would try doing that, but I couldn't without feeling it pretty soon after."

"There isn't much to it for me. I just have to feel it. You know, if I'm not connected to it -in it, feeling it, seeing it -I'll get something, but it won't have the power. That's what I have to do -just channel the feeling." Glenn glanced toward the lyrics. "I thought it was going to be a rather melancholy one. Different from the one you had up here a few days ago."

"Yeah, you could say that." Don looked over his lyrics, and swapping a single word out in a line, drew an excerpt and wrote a tentative title at the top. _When Love Finds a Fool._

"So is that one you're going to use? It would go well with the other."

"I think so. I have to stop procrastinating getting downtown for _glorified babysitting_ today and decide later though."

Glenn slapped his hand down on the desk and howled with laughter, first at Don's snide comment, then at the way his eyes bugged out when the coffee in Glenn's mug sloshed dangerously with the jolt of the surface, just barely staying within the cup.

"Help me, Lord. Gotta see what trouble Tony and Mark are getting up to and if Patt needs anything too. I think Terry's decided he'd rather ask you for any vocal decisions -not that I don't understand him!"

Another week of "glorified babysitting" indeed turned out just as tedious as Don expected -even with some help from Glenn, but this time, the evenings provided him enough excitement to make up for it. For the first time in years, Don found himself accompanied in the office late into the night, and even camping out for the impromptu nap in it with Glenn on the second to last night of the week in town. 

John Norum set an alarm at his house to wake up in the middle of the night, and he joined them on the phone at four in the morning for a couple of hours to hear some of their vocal progress. Before it was over, he had his guitar out and was playing a potential accompaniment to the main line Don had, which John conjectured that Billy would take well to.

"Play it again like _that_ and record that on your track; I like it," ordered Don.

"You two should sing it together while I do," John decided. "If you bring your tapes for it and I bring mine, we've practically got a rough demo to work with as soon as we get back to it. Truth be told, Glenn, I'm really wanting to keep your backup vocals on this one."

"Got it, John." With three separate tracks on Don's eight-track, and one on John's, they found themselves coming to a satisfying result within an hour in the phone.

John was laughing in a combination of excitement and sleep deprivation. "Well, I didn't expect to have a demo done this soon, but _how 'bout that_ for five in the morning and in the middle of the damn night?"

"And over an hour away from each other too." Don pulled the tapes out of the eight-track before one could mistakenly get recorded over. "I guess I've still got a touch of it left on the all-nighter haul!"

"This is just old fun and games!" Glenn whooped before pardoning himself and running downstairs to refill his glass of water.

_He's doing so much better with the muscle spasms when he's tired,_ Don noticed, not seeing Glenn stagger or move in any unusual way approaching the stairs, which just a week ago were visible during the day, let alone after staying up most of the night.

"Bring those tapes when you come next week so we can make some decisions with the others. We could do the backups, but I wouldn't mind having Glenn contribute if you're still for it like you mentioned. If Glenn's up for contributing to anything else -even if it's only the demos -I'm onboard with it too, and I don't see why the others won't be."

By the next afternoon, John had another surprise over the phone in store for them.

"Billy and I got some stuff worked out on the phone on 'Crashing and Burning' -or 'Crash n' Burn' we were talking about changing it to, and he's really gung-ho to get some stuff done on it. Peter is too -we really have solid stuff together and just need to work it out with you and Mikkey. I talked to Wyn too; he called to check on us. He offered us a slot to come into the studio and get a couple of tracks down with the effects if we want to have that out of the way -I was thinking we do 'Mirror, Mirror' and wait on 'When Some Nights' just because it's the stronger of the two songs."

"Hey, I'll go in and do whatever whenever as long as he's not springing it on us before we're ready and shoving it down our throats to go penalize us for time later," said Don. The last thing he wanted was a flashback of the time he'd worked with Cliff Burnstein and Peter Mensch. He'd sooner find Michael Wagener and give a risky ultimatum as he had then if anyone even tried to play that game with him again. 

"If he doesn't have any preference on what track we do and we can do one that's done, that's fine."

"Not so fast," warned John. "Problem is, it's going to be the week after our planned week together. And I know you've got some other guys back in the city you're taking care of."

"John, you know how I am with plans if I even have one. If we can agree to change it, it's done -as long as it works. And I know that week, Patt and Terry were booked on going to main recording, so if I'm gone a few extra days, they'll be fine. Chances are they'd be gone half the week anyway."

There was only one complication Don could think of that he could see potentially creating trouble.

"How many extra days are you thinking?"

"Well, to make it worthwhile -especially if we're going in with Wyn to get some things done, I'd say stretch it from seven days to ten. Possibly more. Two weeks would be ideal, but Peter said he had something to do, so we'd have to be a day shorter than that." 

"So we're looking at ten to thirteen days, and that includes a day or two off-session so that we don't burn out or get frustrated with each other. I don't know, John. I gotta check with Glenn there and think on what I need to settle out here first if I do that." Don was going to have a busy day if he was getting ready for two weeks before driving home. "How about I get back to you in the morning?"

"That's all good. Peter has a long drive in to his apartment when we're in together too, so he's still thinking. It's optional, so if anyone says they can't, then we'll just have our week together and work long distance as we can if we're that eager to keep going."

"Well, I don't have an absolute objection there, so we'll see about it."

Don ended up having another long discussion with Glenn once he was off the phone with John.

"So, I gotta know. Can you handle it if I'm gone for almost two weeks?"

"To be as truthful as I can, I can't promise it," Glenn admitted. "But I really do think I can. If we call each other for a bit at least every three nights, that helps. I'm feeling much better than I did the first time I was here alone. I'm helping with XYZ on backup vocals and writing when you aren't here; I have them to interact with again. And if I'm to help some over the phone with your project, I'm far less likely to become lonely than before."

Sooner or later, Glenn would have to get comfortable with being on his own, because at some point after the release of the album, Don knew he'd be on tour. Even sooner, he wouldn't be spending whole weeks in the city. And with enough health back to keep himself occupied and about town-

_It might be too soon, but there's only but so much time... Oh for crying out loud. It'll be alright._

"Alright, Glenn. We'll try for it. Just be ready in your mind -I'll try to make it out here midway through to check in like we did, but I don't know when, if it happens. Thirteen days."

"Less than a week. It can't be too bad, and I've definitely got something to do now that I'm helping with the 'babysitting'." Both Don and Glenn cracked up Glenn's reference -which he now showed no intention of letting go until it became old.

"You can call too, as long as you're not doing it to drive me crazy. And calling because you need help does not count. Unless you say something, I'm gonna assume you're doing alright and I'm not calling every night myself. Because if you can't tell, Glenn, I'm not David Coverdale."

Glenn blew out an exhale to keep from laughing as much as he wanted to for the sake of him.

"That you definitely are not! Last time I swear he must have called to check on me five times a day. Bless him; he meant well and I love him for it!"

By the night of the eighteenth, Don was back at home, prepared for two weeks on the project this time, and the next day they were already working with the demo tapes and negotiating Glenn's role in the song.

"Well, John, what you did sounds good." Billy was crawling his hand across his guitar strings. "I'm figuring out what Don played -once I've got it down, we can get an official track down to send from here."

"We can," John agreed, "but I think we should work on 'Crash n' Burn' and focus on this when we're set up to include Glenn in this, and when he's ready to work with us too."

"Is there any way possible to get him out here?" asked Peter.

"Is he feeling well enough for that?" asked John. "That choice is between you two, but if he doesn't feel up to the drive, we can keep working with him over the phone."

Don turned around from where he was rewinding the tapes from the early morning recording session. "He did some driving the first week I was out and was a lot more eager to when I was home -he's remembering places and not getting psyched out from everything. I'm not sure how he'll do driving two hours straight. Maybe I can encourage him to take a break on the way -there are a few exits into towns that are easy to get back on from. There's a rest area too if he can get that far. We're going in with Wyn on the twenty-eighth, right?"

"Yes," said Mikkey.

"So we want the twenty-seventh for downtime for sure. Maybe we should do one of the two days before that. That's good because it's halfway for Glenn -keep him from getting too lonely since he probably will be by then-"

"And that gives us a couple more days to really work out 'Crash n' Burn' too."

Peter and John had since brought in a big flip calendar with pages that tore off, and they'd hung the July page on the back side of the chalkboard. John marked off the tentative note in pencil on the twenty-fifth and sixth.

"Are we taking the twenty-third off as downtime then, or were we planning on it being some other-?"

"Just go for it," Don ordered. "It'll be alright."

John marked down the twenty-third as their other day off.

"You also mentioned Glenn said he wouldn't mind just hanging around with the writing process for fun, and the more I think of it, that would be good. Because even when I do backup, Joey usually had some say in writing the harmony vocals -I could do it, but having another set of vocally-inclined ears here-"

"Oh, are you kidding?" asked Don. "I can't always decide what I want with harmonies, and I'm a _lead_ singer!"

"You know what? All the trouble I keep myself out of by staying behind the drums and not singing at all!" Mikkey highlighted his quip with a loud slap on a cymbal, much to everyone's amusement.

"It must be damn nice." Peter only let himself smile after delivering in complete deadpan.

"Yeah!" Billy added in, snatching a plastic ball and hurling it at Peter's head.

"Alright," Don groaned. "I didn't say it was completely impossible! Let's get back on 'Crash n' Burn' before this session crashes again."

..........

A few days later, Glenn had the Jeep packed up with a sheet of paper with directions Don had given him, a backup road map with a few alternate routes traced in highlighter, and an overnight bag they'd both decided he should pack in case he didn't feel up to driving back at the end of the night. He had one last phone call with Don before setting off on the road in the afternoon.

"It's a little more sparse when you get up closer to me, but there are some landmarks and towns. There's a rest area about four exits before mine too. _Don't overdo it._ If you feel like you need a breather, there's more than one chance to get off. And two exits from mine, there's a sign pointing out the way to town -that's when you're gonna want to get in the exit lane if you haven't yet. People trying to get back on past that will try to cut you off if you're not."

"Is there anything I should expect approaching the house?" asked Glenn. "Should I stop at the rest area and call to say that I'm close, or do I park on the street, or-"

"Not unless you want to call," Don answered. "All five of us will be there, so I'll have the gate open. Just get in the driveway -Billy's bringing equipment and you won't miss his truck. We might be outside too."

"Alrighty, then. I'll be on the road shortly -do tell the others to wish me luck in traffic!"

Not long after hanging up, Glenn was settled behind the wheel and navigating the city road to the on-ramp heading up Don's way with butterflies in his stomach and faded images flitting through his mind. Images of being in cars up the very same ramp. Sometimes behind the wheel of a car, but usually sitting passenger, or in the backseat sprawled out acting like a fool with David or Tommy depending on the time it had happened. He missed those days, being in the car without a worry in the world aside from having a good time. 

_It's been so long, and- Are you with me right now, Tommy?_

_Shotgun right next to you, and I've been here all day. You think I'd miss a car ride here on the highway with you, Glenn?_

_It's honestly hard to say; I can't remember the last time I drove this stretch, or if I even have driven it since-_

_You're driving it now though._

There were plenty of cars around, but past the merge point, Glenn found traffic speeding up without any congestion. The visibility was as clear as it could have been, and with the windows ever so slightly cracked, enough wind whipped up to feel a pleasant breeze -warm, but with enough motion to cool the car, and gentle enough to have him content to not close the windows.

Slowly, he felt his nerves settle to a light buzz of adrenaline, and a smile forming.

_How many of those times we were on this highway in cars or on a bus do you remember, Glenn?_

Keeping enough focus on the road, Glenn dug in his mind for each time, starting with the parties on breaks, the joy-rides just for the sake of being on the road for fun and going to some place to play on the street because that was fun too, in cabs to the airport back to a tour, sometimes accompanied. He couldn't place the images of some car rides in order with each destination or a definitive number of times, but he had enough to be certain it had happened. He could see the different colors in Tommy's hair -the faded red that took on a pink cast with his bleached tips, the yellow streak, finally all going back to a wild mix of teal, red, yellow, and a purple-tinged blue, and that first car ride they'd had together on another stretch of the very same highway. The day he'd wanted to stay in, feeling too shaky and paranoid after too many drugs, when David Bowie had scolded him into going to see who would be there. And taken Tommy home even after he had made the audition.

He snapped out of the blissful thoughts with a gasp, slamming on the brake as some obnoxious driver speeding up the left-most lane cut across in front of him and all the other lanes to get to a right-lane exit at the last second. It wasn't just a near miss for Glenn himself, hearing car horns echo around, the screech of skidding tires from other drivers, and seeing as one car in the right lane had to swerve into the shoulder to avoid rear-ending the offender.

"Oh, you idiot," Glenn moaned, settling his foot back on the accelerator, barely able to keep it there steadily as a profuse shaking set in through his whole body. He'd made it so far out that it was a long way regardless of whether he turned back or kept going, and it didn't help that he'd been doing so well only to get derailed now.

_Glenn, don't... Hey. We aren't in any hurry right now. You can pull over, settle down, and get back on the road when you're ready, and they'll still be at that house waiting._

Still shaking and easing into the right-most lane when a gap opened up, Glenn glanced down the shoulder to see if there was a place up ahead where the land stayed flat further off the side of the pavement to keep him as clear as possible of traffic, and spotted the blue sign signaling a rest area in one mile.

"Tommy..."

_Take the exit, Glenn. We'll park and hang out. I'm with you. You can talk it off with me, or just sit together._

Exhaling slow and heavy, Glenn merged into the opening exit lane and slowed to a stop as he diverted to the passenger vehicle side of the parking lot. _Please don't let me be melting down,_ he pleaded internally, leaning back in the driver's seat and closing his eyes as soon as he was safely in a parking space. It was the better part of ten minutes, enough for the car to begin getting hot from sunlight, before the shaking settled.

Thankful to not be feeling the need to curl up and sleep it off, Glenn opened his eyes and his glance finally drifted to where he'd scribbled the instructions and landmarks. Four exits before the exit off to Don's. _Four._

He put his hands up, ready to get back in gear and right back on, but the undershoot of his blood pressure as it went back down left his arms feeling like deadweights, and he backed off, instead pulling the keys out of the ignition and cautiously stepping out and walking onto the concrete island that housed the welcome center building, vending machines, a picnic area, and a small park to walk dogs.

_Think walking around might help, Glenn?_

_Quick walkabout doesn't sound like a bad thing if nothing else._ Glenn found his legs stiff from sitting in driving position for well over an hour -something he hadn't done long since before leaving Atlanta. _There's not much way to go here, but it's not a bad place._

_Too bad we don't have a guitar or bass here with us, right? We could have crashed peak stopping hour in the middle of the day hanging out someplace like this._

_Playing just for the sake of it pulled over at a road-side rest area car park or picnic area. I think we've figured out the one place you may not have._

_Neither of us were ever where you're headed either. John seems like fun, and Don's made Billy sound like he's a riot. Think of how much fun you're going to have when you get there, Glenn. I may just have to watch over you all so I can join in on it._

Circling around from the other side of the building, having made a complete lap, Glenn returned to the car, feeling significantly better when he put his arms up this time.

"That does it," he spoke aloud, closing the door. "I'm ready."

_Right on, Glenn._

Coincidentally, those were the exact words John Norum greeted Glenn with from Don's porch when he pulled up the driveway. Billy had arrived only a few minutes prior from picking up the other eight-track Wyn had provided for them to do a proper vocal track with that effects could be added to, and he was still eagerly telling Mikkey on the porch of the struggle it had been loading it into the truck.

"So you're gonna delay offloading it by telling us about it until Glenn's already here," Don groaned at him. "Glenn, I see you made it in one piece -and you're gonna see real soon that we're looney tunes around here!"

"Great, then," Glenn declared. "It'll be just like returning home to a bunch of fun and jamming. Though I must say, making it here was quite the experience. I think I need some fun after that!"

"Oh, we'll have plenty of fun alright," Peter snorted. "Watch what Billy will pull once we get everything inside, and we might get our focus back right before we end up breaking for dinner!"

"Go on inside and get settled, Glenn," Don instructed. "We'll get the eight-track in the house ourselves."

At the same time, Mikkey came around the house from further up the driveway, triumphantly holding a hand truck above his head as he walked, which was quite the spectacle with his height, but far from impossible with the muscles heavy drumming had built in his arms.

"I brought it for more than one reason!"

That was how they all managed to waste a whole hour -with the refusal to call it a waste -whacking plastic balls around the front yard with rolled-up magazines and taking each other on rides around the yard on the hand-truck after getting equipment inside. During the hour of playing around, Glenn laughed so hysterically from the fear of falling as the tilt-back induced vertigo being instantly followed by the joyous thrill of gliding across the yard that he found himself winded and unable to talk, sitting in the grass with John and Mikkey until they could settle down enough to stand back up. Unfortunately, or by sheer miracle, they finally pulled it together and got to work on the track.

John played through all the demo tracks and got them shifted onto another track of their own. "I don't think this should take too long to do, because it doesn't really need that many added effects either. Wyn will make us redo the guitar in there for sound clarity, and he might make you sing the lead again, Don, but we'll have it done."

"No," Don agreed. "Unless you want anything different, I'd say the most we'd do to it is put some reverb on, maybe some extra sustain on the chorus, and that's it."

"So where we're singing together, that goes on a separate track from the lead vocal, right?" asked Glenn. 

"Yes." Peter nodded. "Unless we work backup differently from how we've done it on the tracks so far."

"Which might be a thing if we want some high notes out of you, Glenn," John continued. "How are we going to go about that?"

Don looked over the eight track Wyn had sent them and the additional features it had that his own didn't. "Interesting. I could sing my part, have Glenn play it back on headphones with the sound muted, and record his own track singing to that. If we don't do it together, we need to rehearse and figure out right now though what we're doing, because we don't want to go take after take."

"How far from the demo are we going, Glenn," asked John. "Aside from that you won't have lead like you did on some parts?" 

"On the official, while it would be fun to pull off some tricks on backup, I don't think it would suit it. I want to go low. Listen to the song and look at the words -it's supposed to be sad, and I feel it going low."

"So you'll harmonize with me most of the way through; _what if,"_ Don held up a finger and stood up in position to demonstrate, "second time we go through, where we have _'I should have seen it coming, you should have said goodbye',_ -if you hit a higher note on "goodbye" and have it echo on a fade, that could give a high note without taking away from the rest of it."

"That -and about half an octave up?" Glenn hummed the line Don had just sung and reached for a few notes above it, mimicking an echo on his own. "I do like that myself."

"Alright, are we ready then?" Billy picked up his guitar, eager to go at it.

Mikkey playfully reached over and poked him in the arm with his sticks.

"Okay, I'm putting the track on, Don, that's for you to record your line you'll have to do again with us; Peter, you're plugged into another tape that'll be yours unless you re-record."

"Mikkey, we'll let you have the headphones to record your track when we're done here." Don helped John make sure the confusing panel on Wyn's track was set up. "We can put you over in the corner where your mic won't pick up an echo-"

Mikkey chuckled. "Oh, put me in the corner like I'm in timeout?"

Glenn flopped back on the couch laughing with Billy.

"Yeah, Mikkey; you're in big trouble," John ragged.

"You knew what you were getting us into, bringing that hand truck here!" Don plugged in a cord into a different port, tapped the microphone with a thump, and turned around. "I think we're good. Here goes nothing."

........

"Everyone put something away, then get keys and move cars!" Billy ordered, picking up his keys from the table.

The clock read 10:30, it had gone dark outside the large windows, and the official tracks were all in order to send in. Billy and John had a demo for their harmonized leads, and Peter and Mikkey were packing up to go home, which required Glenn, John, and Billy to move their cars out of the way.

"Glenn, are you staying tonight?" Don was winding up the cord from the microphone they'd put on Mikkey's kit, which was now packed away, and in the process of being taken outside.

"I wouldn't mind to do so, but I feel alright and I want to drive back to say I've done it and I can. I guess it is late and it's a long way back, so I'd best just head out now, Glenn realized. "It was great fun working together! I really wish we could do this again sometime."

"We might have a couple more chances for you to come up here and help us out, or just hang out, since we're going to get up to trouble at some point." Don directed Glenn down to the hall closet for his overnight bag. "We can figure that out when I get back to LA next week. Call when you get home so I know you made it."

This time, the interstate was more sparse with cars further apart. The glare of taillights in the night brought a more familiar feeling of home, minus the buzz of alcohol or the haze of cocaine. Glenn found himself laughing over the hand truck adventure and forgetting to be nervous about driving at night for the first time since his move.

_That was one of the funniest things I've seen! Oh, I wish I could have done that._

"I wish we could have done that together too, Tommy." Glenn took the off-ramp back into L.A, still as calm as he'd been getting in the car to leave. "And I don't want to say it too soon, but I think I'm getting it. I think I've finally gotten to where I can get over it."

For the sake of feeling as happy and well as he could remember for awhile, Glenn only hoped he could.

..........

Don didn't expect to hear from Glenn after the call to confirm he was back and in for the night until he returned to the city himself. 

Wyn ended up getting a delay in the studio, so he'd had a quiet and relaxing day off to himself on the twenty-eighth to follow up the remaining satisfying progress when they'd continued the day before, and the morning before their first trip into the studio, that Don got a call coming from the house number. It wasn't too long after he'd woken up either.

_He's gotta be calling because he has an idea, or because he's bored. There's no way he's already gotten himself in trouble at 9:00 in the morning._

"Morning, Glenn, what is it?"

"Well, there's not much going on here in town save for a fire truck going down the main road about an hour ago, but I thought I might just give you a call and say _happy birthday_ to you!"

Don chuckled awkwardly after a moment's delay. 

"Well, thanks." _Damn._ He'd been plenty aware it was coming up, but hadn't been thinking about it between the rest of the excitement, or had it hit him since waking up yet.

He, along with John and the others, had attempted to remember each other's birthdays. That made it odd that John had agreed with Wyn on today for the studio if he had remembered. Which meant - _oh, crap._ Wyn and the others probably had some sort of practical surprise in store for him at the studio that would put him on the spot and embarrass him.

"Are you doing anything for it?"

"Well, I wasn't thinking of it and hadn't really planned on it, but yesterday was as good as I could have asked for, and if this is our first day in the studio too, we might just be celebrating tonight," Don realized. He was at home, so he had the choice of letting himself go to a point.

"Sounds like fun, and there you have it -you've got every reason to celebrate then," Glenn quipped.

"I usually prefer having a quiet night to myself, but I'm up to hanging out after yesterday. Don't let yourself get bored -as long as you don't get yourself in trouble, I'd say you already have some things to celebrate yourself, Glenn. Definitely less trivial than another year on the planet."

"Well, I thought I'd go about town again, but I might have another phone call to make if I decide on it. It's been awhile, and we really don't talk much aside from a few times since -I've already told the story." Glenn cut himself off, deciding at that moment that band breakups were a sensitive topic he didn't need to put in front of Don today. "But it's also Ian's birthday, and I thought about calling him in case he is able to pick up. He's the only one after David I would dare call."

Don did remember Glenn mentioning that Jon Lord was pretty bitter toward his drug use after the band collapsed. He'd spoken negatively of it -with enough grace to do so at the minimal detail. Even though he'd been close friends with Glenn prior to that. 

It was something he could tell Glenn was hurt by, the way he spoke about having heard of it, usually through David. It was something Glenn was ashamed of, and Don understood the shame in knowing the part played in leading to a breakup. But Don couldn't feel but so sorry for Glenn as he was understanding of Jon, having gone through it with Jeff. 

As bitter as he was with Jeff, he almost hoped someday that the phone would ring and that he would hear from Jeff himself that he was getting better from his addictions. Knowing that Jeff had come to terms on his own that he had a problem that had wreaked havoc even when he had no intention in his kind soul to hurt anyone, and taken to doing what he needed to fix it. Don realized that probably was the one thing he really wanted now on his birthday, despite it being unlikely to happen -hearing from Jeff himself to confirm the rumors of him getting clean.

Scratch that. If everything were right in the world, he'd want to hear from _Mick Brown_. To hear from him, and celebrate with him after the day in the studio. But that just wasn't reality, and he was barely ready to give more than quick thoughts back on him, let alone get a phone call.

"Well, at least try if you want to. You never know, Glenn. It might give him some level of closure to know that you're getting back on your feet after some time off the scene. Call Ian today, but I think if there's any of them you really need to talk to sometime, it's Jon Lord."

"I'll think about it." Glenn was quieter this time when he spoke. "I'm not sure I'm ready myself to make _that_ phone call."

"Well, I can't argue with that," Don noted. "I gotta get ready myself for whatever my guys have got cooked up -I know they're gonna do something. How many tracks did Terry and the others get done in recording?"

Glenn beamed, and it made it into his voice. "Three."

"Well, since I'm not with them, they might just pull you along to celebrate too."

He hoped that wasn't a mistake to mention; Glenn was still highly vulnerable to making bad choices out of habit this soon after stopping the drugs. Not that he couldn't have already done it before just on any day he left the house. 

But, as he'd felt he'd sung more times than he'd wanted, there was no way up from the ashes without a risk of crashing and burning, and no way for Glenn to climb up without some chance of slipping back down, and with that, Don felt up to risking a night of hanging out in town.

"I'll decide how I feel then if they mention it. You'll have to tell me what happens in the studio with them -I'm curious now!"

"Of course you are. Alright, Glenn, I'll see you in a few days. Get on calling Ian if you're going to."

Don was still shaking his head at Glenn and whatever Billy had probably instigated at the studio over a minute after getting off the phone.

_Alright, that's enough._ He switched the track off on "Crash n' Burn" and got up to get ready. 

_We'll see if we can try and do this without crashing and burning this time._


	11. Crash n' Burn (A Small Slip Down)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don returns to the city, and things have crashed. Hints of old demons poke through his mind, and Glenn's seemingly smooth progress is struggling. After a rough evening with Glenn, Don contemplates reaching out to an old friend for help getting out of their rut, and for a good time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The scene that inspired the whole fic! Taken from this Eddie Trunk interview https://youtu.be/5Y7KXrsF_Bo at around 23:00 where Don tells the story of Glenn staying with him, and at 25:35 finding the coke in the washing machine.

At the end of two long weeks working at home, Don finally pulled in the driveway of the city house with bags of groceries he'd stopped to pick up on the way and his suitcase for the week. As he made his way to the door, struggling with the bags, he couldn't help but notice how the Torenia on the rails had taken off. The front of the house was so colorful compared to the ones around it, even with the lack of space for a garden his home did. It was satisfying to see it come about in the two months since he'd set it up.

For once, Don was somewhat happy to be away from home and in the house for a week. Two weeks together had definitely been enough, especially pulling a couple of long days in the studio. The first day had been fun -if a little embarrassing to be greeted with the studio all decked out and with Billy attempting to jump out around a doorway to startle him. But they'd celebrated a bit too much that night, and the next day had resulted in half of them being cranky in the studio. That only resulted in Billy and Mikkey having an argument which John had to break up. 

It was nothing compared to Dokken arguments, but it had Don weary. More weary than he thought he should be.

"Finally back?" Glenn opened the door at the last second before Don had to shuffle bags to get inside.

"Yeah, we got some things done in the studio. Now I'm back here for awhile." Don set the groceries down on the counter and went to stash his bag upstairs before immediately coming back down to check the house plants. Two weeks was pushing it, and Don was surprised to see the plants were not only doing well with the limited light by the windows, but were standing strong and perky. Not at all how he expected to find them.

Most of them had moist soil, except for the jade, which being a succulent, was better under than overwatered. It's soil was appropriately dry, and it looked surprisingly good for having gone over three weeks without drenching and draining. Don also looked at its injured strand, seeing it still had a split of lighter, inner wood showing, but was beginning to grow a capsule of scar tissue around it. It would have a rounded knot of wood in the stem by the time it was healed up -an unusual, but attractive. feature.

Then Don noticed the watering can by the sink, and a scrap of paper taped to the handle. On it, Glenn had written "jade" and left tick marks counting the days since the last watering of the plant, marking a star to show he'd done it four days ago when Don would have had he been home on schedule. 

Don hadn't mentioned it to Glenn to take care of the plants, and he'd been certain that Glenn wouldn't remember to do it often enough, considering Glenn's part time lethargy and how much energy he would put into playing, singing, and writing whenever he did feel up to it. He certainly hadn't expected Glenn to be so on top of it when Glenn was just as, if not more unorganized than he could be at times.

With a disbelieving smile trying to tug his mouth up, Don peaked into the living room at Glenn.

"You've been keeping the plants watered, and you haven't been overwatering the jade. Thanks."

Glenn beamed from where he sat on the couch with his bass. He'd been able to observe what Don had done the second week he was home and where all the house plants were, enough so to figure out what to do.

Don went back to putting the groceries away in the kitchen, and then went upstairs to take the sheets off his bed, which he hadn't changed and washed before leaving. Unfortunately, the tedious task of stripping the bed and putting on new sheets was enough to get his mind back on the less than ideal end to the studio time, and in turn, to the arguments he'd endured for seven years as he made his way with the sheets to the laundry closet.

He found himself staring into the washing machine in, zoned out as if he could have spun out in it until he fell and blurred into infinity. Hopefully to some other world to escape reality. Images from an old music video he'd done filled his mind, putting his arms up and holding a bar over his head in front of the green screen, and how the editing had turned out with him, followed by Jeff, George, and Mick in some rounded contraption spinning them completely upside down and back up, three hundred sixty degrees, just as a front loading washing machine spun -multiple times getting smaller in the background until they were sucked into infinity.

_I'm faaallllllllllling...._

Falling again... Yeah, he'd been struggling when he'd done what had inspired those lyrics, struggling in an entirely different way when he'd thrown those lyrics together with instrumentation for Tooth and Nail in hopes of ending that struggle, and now he was finally finding a breakaway from the struggle which had ended Dokken, whilst hoping he could get Glenn out of his struggle. He was also falling again back into the dark thoughts and feelings he'd hoped were gone by now...

_No, come on Don,_ he told himself. _Don't think like that. That's not gonna help, and you've been doing so well with not going there. You even think of them by their names again._

With the decision he'd best stop dragging his feet and get his sheets in the wash before he wound up falling any further into bad thoughts, and dealing with the sheets tomorrow when he wouldn't want to, Don looked back down to the laundry basket in his lap, pulling a pillowcase out. As he did, something white along the inner side rim caught his eye.

" _What the Hell is that_ in the washing machine?" he thought aloud.

Pushing the basket off his lap, Don reached in the machine to investigate. He grabbed the white thing, finding it to be a thick packet of a soft, heavy-duty paper, folded up in patterns that created pockets of a fine, white powder within the folds.

A cocaine bindle.

Only one person could have known how that got there.

As soon as reality hit, Don felt overwhelming anger surging through him. He felt his heart speeding up, the blood rising to his face with a flash of heat, and the tightness in his chest as his blood pressure rocketed. But it quickly began plummeting back down to where it had been, leaving an exhaustion behind the anger that left him perplexed as to how to deal with it, or whether he even wanted to. He was perplexed enough as to who he was even angry with. Glenn seemed logical enough, and Don wasn't pleased, but he was more disappointed than angry when he thought of Glenn. He'd been doing so well and trying so hard -Don had seen it with his own eyes. He'd made it this far, and now _this?_

And at the same time, Don couldn't find it in him to be surprised as he thought on it, and of what he'd considered before. Glenn had been left alone for a week a lot earlier into his recovery process, and he still had a long way to go. He could have easily slipped sooner, and Don had expected in the beginning that he might have.

And then he looked back down to that white pack of powder and felt that inner rage building up with the desire to down a few drinks and forget it all -which only further proved to him why he couldn't be but so upset with Glenn.

Was it George, Jeff, and Mick he was feeling so angry over? What they had done because of that white snowy powder that had all the destructive powder of a blizzard in just a couple of cut lines? Or was it even possible that he was angry at some inanimate, non-living chemical? How was _that_ possible? That was easiest for Don to accept, but it didn't make any sense.

Jumping up with the white package in his hand, Don descended the steps, forcing himself to get it over with before he did something equally stupid or unleashed a wrath on Glenn unwarranted by whatever the situation at hand was. However much coke he had taken, if any at all yet. That wasn't including how much he was dreading what could happen if Glenn had consumed a great deal of whatever he'd gotten ahold of. Don could be dealing with the horror of withdrawals shortly. Even sooner and worse to deal with, the chance that Glenn would become aggressive or tearful.

"Glenn," he huffed, holding the white package out on his palm and leaning on his hip against the doorway of the living room. "What the fuck is _this?"_

Glenn felt his stomach drop. 

Getting ahold of that had been a mistake. He'd come to the realization yesterday. He'd taken a single hit out on the street and immediately packed it back up and run home as paranoia swept over him without any mercy whatsoever. The snow kicked up over his view of the world, and suddenly, every car on the road was accelerating to veer off at any second and charge into him, or the intensifying sunlight would ensure he'd walk into one. Every person walking the street, whether they were pointing to some building or talking to a friend -they were all giving him the knowing side-eye. Somebody would surely grab him from behind before he made it home, if his fluttering heart didn't give out before he made it there.

_That's it,_ he had thought. _That's what I get for this, and nobody's going to realize what's happened until Don gets back._

Perhaps, had he not been panicking so much over it, he'd have gotten rid of it right away once he got home. But in his nervous and overstimulated rush, he'd begun frantically doing chores he hadn't already done instead -washing dishes, changing his own sheets, vacuuming rugs, and doing the small amount of laundry he'd managed to generate in the two days since he'd last done it. Glenn had continued running about to think of something else to occupy himself with, when Tommy finally managed to break through his subconscious and murmur sweet, loving words of comfort until he backed down on the couch and passed out for hours. Only to wake up to a phone call from David Coverdale, who was curious to know how he was faring after a month under Don's watch.

If there was one time he'd wanted David to comfort and fawn over him with no restraint whatsoever, regardless of how ridiculous it was, that was it. He wanted somebody to hold him, hug him, stroke his hair, tell him that they weren't angry at him for slipping after trying so hard, that he could still keep going and it would be okay... 

But he'd been unable to tell David that he'd just messed it all up. He wanted David to comfort him, but he didn't want to send him flying into the great panic he would go into if he knew the truth. He didn't want David to be upset with him again. To make matters worse was the phone call he'd succeeded in making to Paicey -who had been more talkative than Glenn expected him to be, and far less reserved than he could remember him being back in his own days in Deep Purple, and for the awkwardness, the conversation hadn't been unpleasant. Right off the bat when it had turned from birthday wishes to recent happenings, Don's guess had been confirmed with _'I'm not sure if you realize how relieved Jon would be to know you're finally on getting yourself turned around.'_

Now he'd only let them down again as well, just two days after that talk.

The most perplexing thing to Glenn beyond all those things was how when he'd gotten home, he didn't even want the coke, and he wasn't sure if that was more of a good thing or a bad thing. He couldn't explain to himself why he'd gotten that coke and taken that hit when he hadn't gone out wanting it in the first place. He wanted it gone. 

And he now realized he'd left the bindle in his pocket, and it had gotten caught in the washing machine. It was still with him a day later from one little slip, just as the effects were. He was crashing from it too. He'd had a mild headache all day, and with Don standing before him, it was ramping up to full-fledged pain. His stomach began twisting itself up into knots -cold and nauseous.

On top of knowing it all was his doing and everything he felt, he didn't have it in himself to force out the confession of it. He didn't want to have to tell Don he'd let him down.

"Donny, I don't know what it is; what the fuck...?"

"No worries then, we can fix this. I'll get it taken care of." Don picked up the packet, walked into the bathroom, and knelt next to the toilet. He began unrolling the separate packets inside the folded up outer sheet, and with light shakes, dumping the fine white powder out of the first packet into the bowl, making it visible to Glenn that he knew exactly what it was.

Startling at the action that exposed the contents, Glenn's eyes flew open wide with horror.

"No, don't take-!"

_"Glennnnn,"_ Don drawled out.

"It's not mine, but wait!"

Don sighed, closing his eyes and beginning to shake another packet out in the toilet as the contents of the first began to clump and dissolve in the water. He knew as he was doing this that he was risking that the next few days weren't going to be very pleasant. Glenn couldn't have gotten into too much of it to look as well as he did, but Don knew he'd had some of it. He knew well enough even without seeing his fearful behavior. Already, Glenn could be violent depending on how much he'd had, what kind of a high he was having, and he would feel betrayed by Don's line of action, but the deal came first, and drugs were going out, not in.

_"Glennnnn,_ come on, now. We've already been through this. Number one rule; it's the only deal breaker here. No blow in the house."

Glenn didn't argue any further or make any movement toward Don, but stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame, gripping it tightly with shaking hands and staring until Don had put every bit of coke in the toilet and flushed it down. Before Don could get back to his feet, he turned and left, retreating to the living room couch.

A tense silence was settling over the house; one that Don didn't feel good about. He didn't feel like talking, or even looking at Glenn right now for the palpable shame hanging in the air making both of them uncomfortable. Don knew that Glenn needed that shameful quiet as much as he deserved it, and possibly he needed it even more to help chase his addiction into remission. At the same time, he knew he couldn't rub it in for too long if he didn't want to deal with an inconsolable Glenn again. That was a trip back to the fourth day of hell week that Don couldn't stand the thought of.

The silence continued into dinner, during which they both sat together at the kitchen table without being _with_ each other. After eating a third of the food on his plate, Glenn took to staring down as he pushed the contents around with his fork.

Don, who also felt like it was taking an impossible amount of time to get through his food, finally broke the silence.

"Getting full already, Glenn?"

Without a word, Glenn stood up and scraped off his plate in the garbage can. A minute later, Don heard his bedroom door click shut. Not having much of an appetite of his own, he found himself doing the same thing and retreating upstairs, leaving the dirty dishes in the sink to take care of in the morning along with the laundry he'd meant to do.

With the safety of being to himself within the quiet, Don's train of thoughts stopped racing and derailing itself, and he tried to get down the track of what to do.

He'd been concerned about being gone for two weeks, and for good reason. Glenn had been clean for a month, but that was barely a start compared to the length of his addiction. Today was enough to show Don as well as Glenn himself that it wasn't where he wanted to be, but there would still be a point Glenn would need proper rehabilitation. His heart was holding out well; now was a far better time to start figuring out what he'd do for that.

However, until that could start, there wasn't much to break up the monotony for Glenn in the middle of the week, even with days working with Terry now. It wasn't enough to keep away boredom -one of the most dangerous things to an addict, only to be rivaled by loneliness, which was another problem when Don was away.

They'd been on the same routine for a month now, aside from Glenn's trip up to his house. That was the root of the problem Don could see, only exacerbated by taking it too fast and going for two weeks. Don was bored with the routine in the city, and if he was bored, time had to be crawling for Glenn.

Something needed to be switched up. They needed to do something fun that didn't involve only shooting the shit, singing and writing in the office, watching TV, or going for a ride in the car with the radio and getting silly with it. Aside from his time locked away upstairs to himself, Don needed to interact with somebody aside from who he worked in a studio with. If he felt that he needed to interact with somebody else, then there was no question that Glenn needed it too. Something had to change, and with that, Don forced himself to dig for ideas before some scene from that stupid video from "Breaking the Chains" could join his flashback to "Into the Fire."

_What can we do? Who's around here?_

Stumped, Don went to retrieve his phone notebook from downstairs and settled in bed with it. Though looking through phone numbers would have once been the most tedious thing for him, it had become interesting now. Who did he have who still lived at their place in California with the same number from when he'd last updated it ...who was neither a part of Dokken, XYZ, nor any of his current solo band? That was even more questionable, as the majority of names he had, he hadn't reached out to in over half a year. Anything could have changed in that time frame. Being in the middle of summer festival and touring season added more complication as to who was home.

He pulled back the tabs where he'd organized his regular calling list. The list where he'd organized the rest of the tabs by bands alphabetically rather than last name.

That was sad to look at. Originally, that scheme had worked well. It still did in theory -if he was trying to reach somebody from one band and couldn't get ahold of him, one of his bandmates might know why and be able to reach him and relay him over to Don. It was a shame that some bandmates didn't even want to try getting ahold of each other -and Don wasn't proud to be in that boat that he was far from the only passenger on.

He flipped through his obsolete notebook of phone numbers, not far from the end, and his eyes settled on the name of an old friend. He wasn't somebody who could help Glenn with addiction, being one struggling with his own, but he was somebody who could give Glenn a good time to perk up his mood. Don knew he was off the road, because he'd run into and talked to one of his bandmates a couple of months back. All of them, Don knew plenty well from when they'd once been next door in a studio around 84. But of all of them, this friend was the one who anyone across the two sides of the studio could get along with without even trying. He was impossible to dislike.

Tonight was July second. For sure, he'd be lonely spending July fourth alone at home with his bandmates on the road. Perhaps he'd be happy to hear from Don. And maybe they could figure something out which Glenn could be a part of.

_Who am I kidding?_ Don rolled his eyes at himself. Of course _he_ , of all people, would be happy to hear from Don. He'd be happy to hear from just about anybody, really.

Don scribbled the name and number down on a sticky note and put it on his bedside table to call tomorrow.

Laying back on his pillow though, his thoughts began to run. Apparently, he hadn't come to a conclusion on the situation with Glenn soon enough to stop the thought train. It would be awhile before it would stop now, and _he was not about to second guess everything he'd decided on._

He wasn't working in the studio tomorrow. His friend was a night owl, and he was sure to be awake with it not being midnight yet. He'd have a few more days off to work in the yard and in the house if he ended awake late and didn't get around to it in the morning.

Sitting up and aggressively tossing the sheets off, Don picked up the phone on the nightstand and dialed the number. If he was going to be stuck awake late, he might as well enjoy it.

_Please let this one still work. Is that too much to ask for?_

The phone rang a fifth time, and Don was just starting to put the phone down, when it picked up.

"Hey, is that Don calling my phone? Hey, man, how ya doing? Tell, me; it's been so fucking long-!"

Don found himself smiling as soon as he heard that familiar voice coming through the phone, and this one wasn't going away.

"Hey, Robbin."

He was in for a long night, but one of nothing but fun.


	12. Roll of Thunder, Rattle of Fireworks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Independence Day arrives, and Don and Glenn have a blast and contribute to setting one off at a party with one of Don's old friends. Glenn finds somebody to understand him and his demons, and in the midst of it all, Don runs into somebody else familiar ...whom he didn't expect to see. [Guest Appearance of Robbin Crosby from RATT.]

Don woke up late on the morning of the third, and spent his first few hours awake pondering the night's phone call. Having milder withdrawals after his slip and crashing down, Glenn was in bed until mid-afternoon, giving him plenty of time and quiet to come up with some plans.

Now he just needed Glenn's input.

He was outside on the bench, having taken his mug of coffee with him, trying as was in his nature to escape the inevitable confrontation over the cocaine as long as he could.

"Hey, Glenn?"

Glenn swallowed thickly and met Don with a sidelong gaze from under his hair.

"Mind if I sit down?"

Don did sit down once Glenn slid over from the middle of the bench, providing space.

"We need to get out of this house, Glenn. Both of us."

"I'm outside now." Glenn was quiet, but apparently not too bashful to be cheeky. "I've been out of the house. You just returned from two weeks out of the house."

"Doesn't count for me here in town. We're doing too much of the same stuff -you more than me. It's getting better, but aside from coming up to my place last week, what have you done outside of this house not counting walking around the neighborhood, going to the studio and the store, getting to the beach a couple of times, and my guess whenever you went in town and got ahold of the blow?"

Glenn shuddered at the mention.

"Well, I guess you've managed to get me there. Going up there with those guys was the highlight of the week, Don. It honestly and truly was. I find things to do, and it helps spending some days helping Terry, but it's still lonely."

"Look, Glenn, I already know you don't do well being by yourself."

"And I was looking for people -I didn't go out looking for it, or..." Glenn's eyes steadily widened and he became frantic, rambling and unable to get it out.

"Glenn..." Don closed his eyes and heaved a sigh.

He gulped and settled down.

"We're done talking about the coke this time. It's gone, it's over -no more."

Glenn nodded."

"Next time, and I hope you stand where I do on not wanting there to be a next time, there's gonna be a big conversation and some shit going down if it happens, but we're moving on. And we're trying to figure out how to keep you from getting lonely and bored so that we can fix this. We can start tomorrow night by getting you out of this house for awhile -in a safe place."

Glenn finally looked up from his lap to Don. "You've already come up with something? Where are we going?"

"I talked to a good friend of mine last night -our bands crossed paths a lot in our early days. I was going to see if we could do something tomorrow for the fourth, like seeing if they're going to do fireworks in town and going together."

Glenn perked up. "I think I'm feeling a little better this morning. I should be well enough by then."

"Well, that's not exactly the plan."

Glenn wilted.

"However..." Don poked Glenn until he looked back up.

"He's a party animal, and he's got supplies to do a get-together with a lot of his friends. Problem is a lot of them are in bands that are still together and on the road right now. He was really looking forward to that before he realized they couldn't come. And since he now knows I'm around, he's really hoping we'll hang out with him. He wants to see you there with me, because from what he knows, nobody else is coming."

"I'm up to it." Glenn leaned forward, contemplating standing up. "It does sound like more fun, and I need a break from writing and playing at night. But what is he like? He's not going to realize I'm a junkie and- and I'm not saying it like that, because I know I am and I'm not denying it. He'll really want me to be there?"

Don almost laughed, having to force it back in knowing that Glenn didn't know who he was questioning at all, and that he probably was struggling with his paranoia after that cocaine.

"You would love him, Glenn. He lives for nothing but hanging out, loving everyone else, and having a good time -whether there's a reason to or not other than enjoying life as much as possible. Not that there isn't some risk in that, and he has some troubles of his own he's been fighting, so he gets where you're coming from. That's not what we're worried about right now though -we should be there for him. And I have reason to guess you'll be happier than if you spend all tomorrow night locked up in this house."

"Probably so. If he's been lonely and he's hoping there would be more than just us, maybe we could find some others." Glenn looked perplexed at Don's phone book. "Who could we get?"

"That is something to think about..." Don placed his finger on the pages to start searching, but as soon as he did, his eyes lit up just as Glenn turned to him and stuck his index finger up in the air.

"I'll call Terry, and you call Patt!"

"And whether they all can make it or not, tomorrow we're leaving the house and we're going to try and have a good time without getting ourselves in too much trouble." Don picked up the phone, having memorized Patt's number by now. "I'll tell him the address and directions to the studio, and make sure Terry knows to ask him how to get there. See if he'll start a phone chain to Mark and Tony."

"Yeah, I suppose that does do us good if they can split it when we're on the same phone and can't call both at once."

"I'll have Patt call Paul. Tell them to see if one of them can give Tony a ride or if he needs one from us. Depending on how late he goes home, the buses might be stopped."

Slowly but surely as they passed the phone back and forth and used the city road map Don had to give Patt directions from the studio, Glenn began climbing back up from his slip, and Don found himself feeling somewhat better over the events of the last few days.

By the end of the day, they'd managed to round up four guests to accompany them. Mark had other plans, but Patt and Terry were instantly onboard, and Paul called the next morning to say that he'd pick up Tony and they'd both be there.

Glenn still had a tinge of paranoia and guilt the late afternoon of the fourth when Don parked his car tightly alongside the curb and a ways down from the corner, which he didn't trust people driving after Independence Day parties to take carefully enough. Walking back past two houses, and to the second one from the corner, Don pointed out the address. Immediately, it made sense -music was audibly pumping from a radio from behind a gate to the side of the house leading around the back, and red string lights from Christmas had been repurposed to light up the awning over the front stoop.

As they approached, the gate on the side of the house opened to reveal a man with blond hair who seemed impossibly tall. He walked with a heavy gait, had a tired, far-off look in his eyes, and Glenn could see some of the tell-tale signs of an opiate addict struggling to recover in bruised arms and pained movement.

But as he lay his heavy eyes on Don, they brightened up and he sprang a warm, contagious smile that seemed to hold all the energy in the world.

"If you had any idea how happy I am to see you!"

Don smiled weakly. "We're both here."

He reached out to casually slap fives with Robbin's extended hand, but Robbin pulled his back.

"Oh, come on, you know better than that, Don. Don't give me a high-five; come here and give me a fuckin' hug!"

Don chuckled and came in closer for Robbin to pull him in. "I knew something was up with you having your hand out."

"Playing around," said Robbin. "We're gonna have a good time."

Glenn stood back, feeling intimidated, but also at home. There was a familiar sweetness he saw in Robbin.

Don then turned around and gestured beside himself as they walked through the gate.

"Robbin, this is Glenn Hughes."

"Well, Glenn, come right on in here too, 'cause you're more than welcome with us! I'm Robbin Crosby."

"Sometimes we call him 'King' too," Don added.

Glenn walked through the gate a step behind Don, and before he could look to either one of them, he found himself snatched up in a warm, solid hug with large hands playfully roughing up his hair.

"Heard you weren't feeling too good the other day, glad you could make it. You let me know if you start hurting and you need anything, okay?"

Glenn hugged back tightly, not wanting to let go of the physical contact and comfort that had been given to him so readily. There was something nice about that. Not getting questioned about what he was up to or the drugs, but just being viewed as the person he was and just as welcome and loved for it.

But they couldn't stay in the narrow space beside the house all evening, so he let go before Robbin did, and looked curiously along the side.

"Come on around the corner to the backyard," invited Robbin. "A couple others are already here -Tony Burnett, Paul Monroe is a stitch -Don, thanks for sending him, he's super cool! And I've got this new, five-month old puppy you're gonna love. A pure bundle of joy, I tell ya."

Don smirked as Glenn's eyes lit up and he rushed forward into the yard, any withdrawal-driven nervousness gone at the word "puppy."

"So Glenn likes dogs too." Robbin chuckled. 

"From what I know, he had some back in the seventies -he's an animal lover."

"You like dogs, Don; are you ever going to have one running around with you?"

"Someday I will. I know that; I don't know when." Don followed Robbin to the yard. "I keep telling myself I will -so it'll happen. Been wanting to for a long while, but I was away from home ten months at a time, and by that point any dog would be more the boarder's than my own."

"Well, you're not with Dokken anymore, so you're not gone nearly as long."

"I just need to figure out what my touring schedule is going to be like with the guys I've got now before I can really decide what to do there."

"As soon as you can confirm you can, you should, Don," said Robbin. "You won't regret it. This dog's been keeping me going through all this shit. Gives me a reason to get up in the morning even when no one else is there and loves me regardless of what kind of a day I'm having. Now that I have him mostly trained, the only thing he still often does for me I don't care for is turn the garbage can over. We're getting better about excavating my yard, but you might see some places where the grass is gone back here."

Don chuckled and raised an eyebrow. "Oh, so I see you got yourself a digger."

"Snooping, or if I left anything edible in there, he'll find it. I had to bungee-cord up the kitchen one, but every now and then he manages to get his paws in and unhook it, or I'll forget to put it back after taking out the bag."

"That's not bad, considering." Shouts of protest rang out across the yard as Don and Robbin stopped to stand along the back of the house, facing the entirety of the backyard space. Tony, Paul, and Glenn were running around the yard, chasing a tan Jindo puppy who had a frisbee in his mouth and was booking it away from them, only slowing down to give the plastic disk a good shakedown.

"Get back here!" hollered Tony. On the other side of the yard, Paul began running around the other way to head the puppy off in his track, laughing as he went so he could hardly keep from falling forward.

"Max!" shouted Robbin. "Bring it!"

Max did a hairpin turn and ran straight back at Tony and Glenn, dropping the frisbee on the ground.

Tony reached down and threw it so it flew safely low below the fence line. "Get it!"

Max did, and this time tried to bring the frisbee to Don and Robbin. However, this time Robbin turned away to let Terry in the yard as he arrived, so Paul picked it up. When Max followed Robbin back in the yard, he couldn't find it and started sniffing around where he left it.

"Uh-oh." Robbin grinned mischievously at Paul, signaling him to hold onto it and keep it hidden. He turned back to Max, squatting with his hands on his knees and silly-talking in a way that had Don and Terry tickled to death.

"Where is it? Huh? Where'd it go? Did someone put it back?"

Max's ears twitched and his tail perked up into a higher curl than it sat in already.

"Go get it!"

Looking more like a blurred streak than a dog, Max took off running circles around the yard, completely crazy -kicking feet out behind him and making flying leaps over some tired-looking Hosta plants along the fence that had visibly taken more than a few beatings from the antics unfolding in the yard.

"This is what we call doing 'the zooms' around here, and we do them every day!"

Don shook his head and chuckled, watching Glenn completely lose it, laughing hysterically with Paul until Paul threw the frisbee, getting them back to where they started with chasing, except with Terry to join in this time.

"I love it. This is gonna get me in trouble looking for a dog before I'm done going back and forth between here and home every other week," Don groaned. "And he already figured out how to go get that thing -he just needs to figure out how to give it back."

"Oh, Don, you oughta come see us a few months from now." Robbin pulled a folding chair out from under the deck and set it up by the folding table he'd settled on the corner of the yard where the ground was covered in concrete patio tiles, providing another seat that Terry could use. "I swear, that dog must've been in some movies in his previous life. Picks up tricks like nothing else -I'm trying to see what I can teach him to do. Give us until then, and we could all but put on a show for ya!" 

"Well, maybe I'll see about that before going on tour."

A knock came on the gate, and Robbin reached over to let Patt in the yard, completing their small, but no less enjoyable party crowd. The first couple of hours was just hanging around the patio and telling stories so that Robbin could get to know everyone -and watching Robbin make Max stand on his hind legs, offer a paw for a hand shake, and run in a circle for pieces of a hot dog that fell off the grill.

"I've got a box of fireworks inside the house -the color flares -so anyone who's able to stick around until it starts getting dark, we can set those off tonight," Robbin announced over dinner.

Paul and Terry looked at each other excitedly, and Patt looked to Don and raised an eyebrow.

Don leaned back and shrugged, hands out to the side. "Don't look at me, Patt. I'll be hanging around. If you want to stay, we can all go in late tomorrow."

"Alright!" shouted Tony.

"Yeah, nothing like being told you don't have to get up early!" Robbin unfolded a trash bag for cleanup, offering to get drinks from the cooler for everyone who had finished theirs.

"I gotta get more ice for the cooler too," he said as he passed Tony a can of Coke and Patt a beer. "There's a convenience store about two blocks down on the corner from here, so I'm gonna run and get some real quick. Glenn, you wanna come along with me?"

Glenn looked to Don, who pointed toward the gate without a word. _Go with him._

So Glenn got up and followed Robbin out the gate, realizing that Robbin was using the walk to the store as a way to get to know and understand him better.

"I heard you moved across the country and you're staying with Don for awhile?" he asked, shutting the gate.

"Yes. Actually, I used to live out here in the seventies."

"So you're not that new after all. Leaving when you're better, or are you planning to stick around?"

"That's actually something I've been thinking about," Glenn admitted. "I wouldn't mind staying, but I'll have to see where the road takes me. I was happy to stay the first time, but I ended up moving around with some projects I can hardly remember in the eighties, and most others hardly remember them aside from Black Sabbath because I couldn't keep it together to tour with them."

"Well, you see what happens, and if you have to move again, that'll be alright too. You'll be back onstage and enjoying it."

"I can't call it anything but pathetic for myself -only onstage twenty times in the past few years, and I miss it... What about you, Robbin?"

Robbin sighed.

"Glenn, I miss it every day. I miss my guys with Ratt -even when I know not all of them miss having me around. I miss my little brother -he's our other guitarist -and our drummer -all of them, really. But I couldn't keep it together either. The last night I was with them, I grabbed a guitar with an alternate tuning for the wrong song and I fucked up big. They sent me to a month of rehab, then I slipped and found out I'm sick, and now I'm off the road, no nothing on what's gonna happen. I hope one day they'll call me, but I've heard things aren't going well there, and if I ever get well enough, it might be too late."

"How long were you in Ratt?" asked Glenn, feeling curiosity spark.

"Roughly eight years -the first couple were on and off, then we had our first official album steady us out, though the EP we had before that is our real first. That was us more than any damn release we had after that; the fucking bomb. We had so much fun doing that one too -never again like that afterwards. Things turned too serious during the day, overproduced -and we got crazier at night."

Surprised by the time frame, Glenn kept digging. "You all were together for so long. I don't get it that they can just throw you aside, and if they have so many problems, those can't have gone on but so long."

"Oh, they did. We all have problems -all through the band. More than I probably know myself." As they got up to the store front, Robbin reached into the large cooler outside the door and struggled to hoist a ten pound bag of ice out over his shoulder, exposing the extent of his situation to have the weakness he did with the muscles he had.

Glenn waited until they had gone inside, paid for ice, and started heading back down the sidewalk at a slower pace under the weight of the bag to ask any further.

"But of the others are still on the road supposedly doing alright, how much trouble could you all have really gotten up to? I've never been able to see a lineup I've been in stay consistent more than a couple of years."

"We got up to plenty of trouble too. Holy shit, Glenn, you don't even want to know," Robbin sighed. "Without even going into the real bad debauchery that got me here, and what's starting to tear the others apart right now, we still got up to more than enough. We had more stage mishaps than anyone would admit to. Our bass player flipped the bass around himself so hard one night that it came off him and went flying into the stands. The noise when that came down was incredible -at least that one was only embarrassing."

Glenn started laughing.

Robbin teased. "I told you that one because I thought you might find it funny!"

"That sounds funny, but I just thought of the time in Deep Purple, the singer at the time, David -he tripped over a cord and fell in the orchestra pit -he was okay -but the look on his face when he did-!" Glenn broke off, and Robbin cracked up too.

"That's great; poor guy," he pitied. "And sometimes it is easy to shake off, but sometimes, not so much. There's everything to do with trying to figure out why your singer isn't in the studio when you thought he was, or trying to force him in there when he doesn't want to be there. Our bassist, drummer, and singer -they'd have arguments. Those turned into shouting, and they'd throw things and spit at each other, and if someone couldn't stop it real quick at that point, it'd turn into a brawl."

Glenn tried to imagine it with his time in Deep Purple. He could remember the bad days with Ritchie and guitars getting thrown, and he knew his ways of turning violent while high, but he couldn't bear the idea of exchanging tongue lashings in the studio and on the road every day for most of eight years.

"It would scare the shit out of my little brother the first couple of years. Then we started drifting apart and he'd just go home or to his hotel room and get away."

"But how did it last? There had to have been something good before it fell apart, right? Even we had a time we were alright and all enjoying ourselves together before it started to fall apart. And I never stopped being close with Tommy Bolin even after the tour ended, before we knew it was over."

"Of course we enjoyed it. There was when I still had my little brother living with me, and being close with everyone else trying to get started, and nobody would have wanted to see me if they dared to hurt any of those guys. I love them. And we had so much time and fun together -we used to have parties crammed in a two room apartment," Robbin chuckled, eyes drifting up with nostalgia, enjoying every moment talking about it. "How many people we would fit up in there was insane. The Fire Marshall today would have choked if he knew what we were doing."

At the power of suggestion, Glenn choked with laughter until Robbin patted him on the back.

"No regrets on it. I'll never fucking regret those days. Every day was a party, and were as happy as we probably ever were, even though we hardly had anything but each other. Funny how once we did have more than each other to live by and didn't have to fight to survive, we couldn't keep from fighting each other. That's what really got to us." Robbin stopped to reposition the ice bag over his shoulder. "I don't think some of us could have made it two days without getting in it over something. Then there were the drugs -some of them were for partying, but more of them started being distractions from the fights. But some of us just fight more high, so there would be more fighting, then more drugs because of it until that took over."

Glenn gulped. "That's what got me out of Sabbath. Got in a big fight. Nearly destroyed myself too -I had blood all down my throat and it's a miracle my voice came back. I still don't think they were right to pummel me in the face and cause that, but I know I was fighting and they acted on it. And then I tried to have another fight when they sacked me."

"Well, maybe it was best for you anyway. You're still strong. You can get back out there when you're better if you can still sing well -some people would go back out even if they couldn't." Robbin shook his head, or attempted to with the ice in the way. "I almost wish I'd gone out with a fight instead of messing up."

"Why?"

"It would have been between us, and we could have settled it and made it right. But I messed up, and they have their own choice on it."

"But you don't deserve to be just left behind and forgotten," Glenn argued. "I messed up how many times in Purple and past that, and some of them -David -still keeps close."

"Because David cares about you," said Robbin. "Being together for eight years instead of three won't make everyone care though."

"But they should anyway, because you're a good person," Glenn blurted. "You care about people who hardly care back because of one problem you have, even when you still love them like family and would do anything. You said it - you'd protect them from anyone, and they won't be here for you now. I can't even trust myself to be there for anyone-"

He stopped in his tracks as Robbin walked around in front of him and looked him right in the eyes before speaking in as sincere a tone as Glenn had heard in years.

"You're a good person too, Glenn. You really are."

"But you don't realize where I've been or just how bad I've been. I drove myself to the edge of insanity, Robbin -you don't know who I am just seeing me here. I've let so many people down, even when I could help it." Glenn's voice was rising. "Everything I get myself into -it either doesn't get anywhere, or I fuck it up. I couldn't be there to save the person who meant more to me than anyone else-"

_No, Glenn; NO! Don't say that. You couldn't have known to be there. Even if you were there it could have been too late. You did everything for me. Please, don't..._

Seeing Glenn working himself up into a rage driven by grief and every problem they had in common, Robbin put his hands on his shoulders.

"Stop."

They were in front of the house, having arrived. Robbin sat Glenn down on the front step and gingerly lowered himself to sit beside him with a sigh, setting the bag of ice down over the tops of his shoes to protect it from the hot bricks. He held Glenn against his side under his arm and didn't speak until the tension through Glenn's body slowly released.

"It's not letting someone down that matters, Glenn."

"How?" 

"It hurts, but we can't judge on that alone. Anyone can let somebody down -even the best person. What matters is why if it was intended, and if they care or feel anything for doing it." Robbin stood up and took the ice in the house, motioning for Glenn, who meekly followed behind him.

"Every now and then I still come home to Max and I find a big mess in this front hallway we're walking through. I know he didn't mean to, and he sure let's me know with those eyes. Doesn't make the problem less bad or justify it, but it still happens. It doesn't make him a bad dog."

Glenn cracked a weak smile at that analogy. "Even if a dog tore something up in the house and meant to, I don't think I could want to have them thinking they're a bad dog."

"Because you love'em too much, just like I am with my guys." Robbin ducked out on the back patio to throw half the bag of ice in the cooler and came back in. He struggled to lift the leftover half bag of ice up level with his chest to the freezer, and Glenn ran over to help him lift it up and stash it safely on the shelf.

"There are people who will let you down without a second thought, Glenn -with a reason or not -and they do it cold and harsh and don't care about even trying to make it easier on you. As long as it's all good for them in the end, it doesn't matter whether it is for you. You're not that -you just have to be able to know you've tried everything you could, and accept it at that when you do slip and keep trying. Don't be like me and keep slipping because you're beating yourself up for slipping last week."

"I'm trying as hard as I can." Glenn wasn't sure if it was to assure Robbin or himself when he said it. "I know you are."

"Just remember the reason you're here right now is that Don and I are rooting for you, okay?"

"Well, then I'm rooting for you too, whether you can make it or not," Glenn said stubbornly. "And I want the rest of tonight to be even better than this afternoon just for that."

Robbin smiled -that sweet, contagious smile with enough mischief behind it -and jostled Glenn's shoulders affectionately.

"That's what I'm damn well talking about! Now let's get back outside and have a party."

Together, Glenn and Robbin came outside to the patio, where Robbin stopped to check in the others.

"Made it back?" Don looked up from where he was talking to Tony, having decided to get to know him better aside from that he was another guitar player who would potentially replace Mark. "Took longer than I thought."

"We're good, we were just hanging out and telling some stories." Robbin aimed a look only in Don's direction for him to the subject matter and that it didn't need to be with the others.

"Got it. Tony's been telling us some stories too."

"We're having a fun time here, and Max crashed our little party and hopped up on the table a few minutes ago." Patt snickered as he mimed paws going on the table surface, and then jumping to the surface. "Nothing on the table to have -he just wanted to get on our level for belly rubs until Paul pulled the frisbee back out."

"It's just like the peanut gallery we get in the studio, only with a dog," Don snorted, pointing across the yard where Paul chased Max and Terry chased Paul -and as Glenn ran out with them.

With that, Tony cracked up and told the story of the day Don up and left the studio because they were running around with paper airplanes and racing on their stomachs with desk chairs down the hall. Though he could justify it with being sick and trying to get things moving while taking care of an even sicker Glenn, Don felt a little bit like a spoil sport now for it after a few weeks of all the goofing around he'd gotten up to with Billy.

"You all did not!" Patt slumped over the table, ashamed at only just finding out what exactly happened while he dealt with his car.

"Oh, we were all but drag racing with those chairs after he left," laughed Tony.

"Hell, yeah!" Robbin sat down next to Tony. "I gotta join in with you all then -I love it!"

Don took another look across the yard. "They're doing what they were only on foot with the dog now."

"Well, we'll be out here longer for plenty of that. Max won't have missed his walk today -I didn't get around to it."

"I'm just a tiny bit worried about those clouds with that." Tony pointed to the sky.

"Yeah, I've been keeping an eye out, because I think it is supposed to rain later tonight -just not certain how soon. We'll break out those fireworks before it comes, that's for sure."

"It said in the paper that tomorrow's going to be a washout, so it's probably going to cut loose when it does start," warned Patt.

Paul groaned. " _Ohhhh..._ Nasty!"

"Which one of us is gonna get up earlier to give Tony a ride to the studio so he doesn't have to walk to the bus in the rain?" asked Terry.

"You know what? Tomorrow..." Don pointed to Terry, Patt, Paul, and Tony and made the phone shape with his hand to point at his ear. "If you all just got back from recording and a couple of gigs, we work it from home if it's throwing down. There's no reason we have to deal with that.

Paul pumped his fists in the air. "Aww, yes!"

Tony laughed at Paul's reaction. "I love how you're more excited about it than I am when I'm the one without a car who'd be having to deal with the bus stops!"

"Love it when things aren't looking so great and then everything turns around just like that." Robbin watched them, still all smiles as he'd been most of the evening.

A loud rumble came up the street, slowing down, but staying in significant volume. The source seemed to have stopped moving.

"Are those a bunch of motorcycles stopping out front?" Terry started to stand up from the table to try and get a look. "Maybe you have more people coming that you thought, Robbin."

A loud shout came from the front.

"HEY, KING!" It was a low, slightly raspy voice that sounded familiar. Too familiar.

Robbin flinched and his face lit up. Even with a struggle, he hopped up from his chair and ran down the passageway beside the house to the front gate.

"HEY!" he whooped, throwing the gate open and running through. "You wild bunch of nothing but fun -it's been way too long! Tell me, how's it going? You can stay as long as you like if you're not on the run..."

Looking down the side of the house, anyone in the yard could see the happy scene of reunion between two friends. A broad-shouldered man in a biker vest with long blond hair that seemed impossibly fluffy to have just been under a helmet clapped his hand playfully against Robbin's back right before being snatched up in a hug and returning it while whooping with laughter and excitement. His facial features were softer than Robbin's, and he wasn't quite up to the same height, but the two both had a wild spirits as they playfully shoved each other around while still holding on, so much that they could have been mistaken for cousins. And in a way, they were cousins -through music and knowing each other through their scene if not by blood.

There was laughter that rang out from the two, Robbin giving the other a playful noogie on the head before letting go and eagerly exchanging questions to catch up with his friend, and the sight would have made most smile at how contagious the joy was.

But on the other end of that passage, as Don looked through past Terry and Glenn -curious cats sneaking a look around the corner -to see who Robbin had gone after and what was the source of all the excitement, he felt his stomach plunge.

Mick Brown froze, turning from where he stood with Robbin, now in the passageway and hidden from the street by the gate, to meet eyes with Don from the mere fifteen foot distance that separated them.

Don wasn't sure whether he felt more or less paralyzed than Mick looked.

Robbin turned back toward the yard, calling out to Terry and Glenn, taking them along, and disappearing around the corner of the house, leaving the two to themselves in the passage way.

"Don," Mick finally said, as if he wasn't sure what else to say.

"Mick."

Mick glanced to the ground, gulping, and stepped closer.

"What you been up to?"

"Well," started Don, drawing it out and placing a hand on his hip to hide his uncertainty, "that's a good question, really. A lot of things."

"I guess you're kind of aware of what I've been up to in Arizona -working with..." Mick trailed off, unsure whether to say it or not.

"Yeah, I know plenty," said Don. "That's fine; I'm glad you're doing alright working with George, and I heard Jeff is doing another thing and producing a few projects now."

"Look, Don-" Mick paused, gripping his hands together in front of him and wringing them. "About the dispute thing, I-"

"It's fine, Mick -I've already figured something else out. It's done and I don't want to talk about it."

"Duly noted." Mick's eyes brightened and he tried to change the subject with some residual awkwardness. "So, you come around here often?"

Don shrugged. "Not really. I actually only just called Robbin the other night to catch up with him; I thought of him and figured he'd enjoy some company for the fourth. Seems like he's got more than he's had in awhile now. Speaking of that, what brings you here from Arizona? Extended bike trip?"

As if on cue, a shout came roaring from the street.

"HEY, WHAT'S THE HOLDUP, MICK?!"

Mick pointed a finger over the fence. "One minute!

"Yeah, me and some of my Arizona pals have been riding the coast this past week. We're heading downtown to see the public fireworks if they don't get rained out, and then we're visiting some old hangouts there and crashing on town overnight. I just decided to stop by and give a shout to Robbin, catch up real quick." Mick paused. "Any chance you got your bike with you? If you want to come along and hang out a bit, you can."

That question, and Don wasn't sure whether he was tickled or stricken. There was the time apart. There was the conflict within Dokken that had pushed them apart, and there was the isolated state Mick had been in alongside him those last two months leading to the breakup where they'd said little to each other whilst longing for the end. There was the conflict that had continued in other ways after that end.

And right here in front of him was Mick, slightly different in appearance, but seeming just like the good old Wild Mick Brown who Don knew, had been best friends with, spent countless hours with, suffered through sickness on the road with, and had laughed and joked with on many a car ride and in many a hotel room. Because beyond everything that had happened, he still was Mick. 

The good old Wild Mick Brown he still missed. More than he'd realized he did before he was standing in front of him.

"No thanks. I don't have it here. And I think Robbin's got some fireworks for us to set off here anyways."

"Well, at least you'll still have some, but if you all want to come out later and meet us in a bar or something-"

"I'm good Mick. But thanks for asking; really-"

"MICK? _YO!"_

Mick looked crestfallen.

"I gotta go. Look, Don, it was great running into you, even if it wasn't for long."

Don nodded. Out of nowhere there were so many things on the tip of his tongue he wanted to tell Mick. What he'd been up to. What he had plans for. Asking Mick more about what he was doing and how he'd set himself up in Arizona. However, none of them would come off as his tongue felt too thick to maneuver, and time was already up.

"It was good seeing you too," he managed. His heart pounded with the rumbling of the engines out on the road, and feeling dizzy, he swallowed and looked to the ground to steady his feet.

Suddenly, Don's mind was back in 1988. He was so sleep deprived he could have dropped off to sleep on his feet right there if it weren't for how fast his heart was pounding and skipping beats. A coked-up Jeff Pilson was staggering past him through the door of a management law office, and George had already booked it out of sight the moment the signing off of their contract end was completed. A sleepy coke-eyed, not-entirely-with-it Mick Brown stood on the other side of the doorframe, petrified as to how to go about saying goodbye, meeting Don's eyes and promptly bursting into tears.

Don couldn't remember having ever seen Mick cry aside from when he laughed too hard, and he was devastating to see in that long moment up until they both ended up turning and walking away because they hadn't been able to find a way to say goodbye.

"Don, you good?" asked Mick. There was something unidentifiable behind the concern in his tone.

Don flinched as he came back to reality. "Yeah, I'm alright."

"We should try and find each other sometime and catch up, okay?" he offered.

"Sure."

Mick pulled the gate open. "I'll see you around." Three seconds later, it fell behind him as he sprinted back out to the street. Don heard the loud, metallic _clack!_ and felt the reverberations in the air as the latch didn't click in, instead bouncing the ends off each other so the gate hung closed, but ajar, and not secured.

Bewildered, Don walked over, put his hands on the gate, pushed against it, and even watched through the slits in the wood as Mick rode off with his group of pals, looking back over his shoulder as he did. He couldn't find it in himself to lift the clip on the latch of the gate and shut it all the way. His heart kept pounding hard and heavy when he tried to put his shaking hand to it, something was squeezing him in the chest and making it hard to breathe, and all he wanted was for Mick to come back in the yard and clap him on the back as he had with Robbin. The way he had before everything blew up for the last time.

He started turning around slowly, intent on leaving the gate ajar, only to be greeted by Robbin coming around the house with a knowing look. He knew. His reasons were different, and Don knew that he was far more deserving of his own position than Robbin was of his, but they were in the same battle of isolation, and he knew it.

Don wasn't quite sure how Robbin could do it with the sheer size of his heart, and just how much more delicate his was. He certainly didn't deserve it, nor did the world deserve him, he thought, as Robbin approached.

"Don, you come here," he ordered, putting his large but ever gentle hands on his shoulders. "You're shaking terrible; are you okay? Let me see you..."

"Yeah, I'm fine -nothing bad happened or anything-"

He didn't realize he was shedding tears now until Robbin stroked his thumb against his cheek, then held him in a tight squeeze as panic tried to get its own stronghold on him.

"I gotcha... Don't worry about anyone else here right now; I gotcha."

"You're the kindest person on this fucking screwed-up planet, King," Don choked, sliding fingers up under his sunglasses and trying to swipe his eyes dry before any more tears became apparent and swearing when they wouldn't stop coming.

"First time is the hardest," Robbin admitted, pulling him over so they could lean on the fence, backs to the yard. "I took it hard too, first time I saw Torch and the first time Blotz called me. Nothing wrong with that, it just means you loved him. And you still do."

Don shuddered. It was the truth, and it was painful. So damn painful. There was only one thing that was worse, and the truth only contributed to it.

"We need to officially cut contact with each other so I can move on from this. Either that or I gotta know where the fuck we stand and how things are going to be, because if we're only gonna see each other like this and have near pointless small talk shit and not know what to say to each other until we're gone and not have any communication for months in between, I can't do that. I can't fucking do this anymore. It's only gonna drive me crazy if I do."

"Right here. I gotcha right here as long as you need." Robbin sounded choked up; it was subtle, but Don could tell.

He leaned his forehead on Robbin's shoulder, focusing on the feeling of the warm, caring arms wrapping around him and connecting him to Earth, trying to block out the stinging through his chest and calm down before the panic attack could ramp up enough to render him a hot mess for the rest of the evening, silently willing for everyone else to stay in the yard so that nobody other than Robbin would witness his meltdown.

Robbin sighed. "You love him. Maybe he still does too, and something'll come of it soon between you two." It was what they both hoped from their bandmates.

They stood in silent understanding for a few minutes, in the quiet of that passage between the gate and the backyard, until Don finally pulled back and wiped the rest of his tears away, keeping his gaze uneasily to the ground until his sunglasses were back on and his breathing evened out.

"Think you need to go in the house to cool off or get cleaned up? If you do, I can take you in the front if that's more comfortable -so nobody else knows, and you can just take whatever time you need; I get it." Robbin snuffled and dragged the back of his hand across his watery eyes.

"No, I'm good." Don shook his head and held his hands up, heaving a sigh. "I don't want to drag this out. I'm finished."

"I got that too; so am I. You ready to go back?" Robbin asked. 

Having regained his composure and wearing his sunglasses like a shield, Don began following him back to the yard.

"I'll get you something cold to drink from the cooler; it'll help. We'll probably do those fireworks in the next hour or so." Knowingly, Robbin changed the subject to something more cheerful. "Sun's starting to go down and it's time to party big before the rain gets here."

"Sure, that sounds alright."

As they rounded the corner of the house back to where the festivities continued to take place around the patio table, Don silently hoped that Glenn hadn't gotten up to trouble in the time he'd been out of the yard, especially after his slip-up the other day. 

He knew it was a risk having Glenn at Robbin's -even with his attempts to get clean, there could have been any kind of drug lying around, and Don had been too drunk himself during his days of top-production for XYZ to have even known if any of them were into something messy. Glenn had plenty of way to get his hands on something here, and get high on it.

There was something different -a more rational voice in his mind he hadn't been able to connect with in awhile -that tried to shake off that concern. Even if Glenn wasn't the most trustworthy person in the world and was in high danger of slipping, it didn't mean that he would intentionally mess up the second he was by himself. It was impossible to sit in fear that Glenn would mess up when he would have to be in control of himself eventually.

_If he can't be shown some level of trust, why is he ever going to trust himself to try?_

He was thankful that rational side had kicked in too, because as he and Robbin did head toward the back of the yard again, he was met with plenty evidence that Glenn hadn't gone looking for trouble. It was plenty touching too, enough to have Robbin smiling so his cheeks hurt.

"How sweet," he murmured, an affectionate chuckle tinting his voice.

Glenn sat in the grass just off the side of the patio, laughing with sheer joy and gasping for air as if he'd been going for awhile. His arms extended in front of himself to brace Max up, who was standing on his hind legs and climbing with his paws up on Glenn's shoulders, flicking his pink tongue all over his face. Max's tail wagged a mile a minute as Glenn used one hand to stroke his thick fur, to which Max responded by pushing forward and nudging Glenn's sunglasses askew with his nose.

"Whoa!" Glenn yelped and put one hand back to brace himself up.

The corner of Don's mouth hitched up weakly.

"Max," warned Robbin, "take it easy on Glenn before you knock him down."

Max promptly jumped off of Glenn, ran right past Robbin, and hopped up with his paws on Don's knees.

Don felt his serotonin levels recovering, and pretty soon, he was also laughing and kneeling on the ground with Max up on him the same way.

Robbin lowered himself to the ground with slight difficulty, then stroked Max's fur. "He knows when you need cheering up."

"He's great," agreed Glenn. "He really, really is. Makes me miss my own I used to have."

"Maybe when you're well enough and settled into a place here, you'll be able to have one with you again." Don shrugged. "When I'm done moving around and figure some things out, I know I will."

Glenn looked at Max thoughtfully and smiled, just as they all stood up and went back to the table to rejoin as a group spending time together just for the sake of having a good time.

..........

"Now, is that someone doing firecrackers down the road, or is that thunder?" asked Paul. An hour had passed since their motorcycle visit, and it was just starting to get a twilight appearance to the sky under the thick patches of dark grey clouds.

Patt held up a finger. "Listen for it a moment?"

A low rumble echoed in the distance, and a cooler, humid breeze blew through.

"Uh-oh," said Glenn.

"Yeah, that's thunder alright." Robbin stood up. "Hey, I'll be right back outside, okay? I've got the best part of the night coming -I'd wait until it was pitch dark, but I don't think the rain's waiting that long."

"Need some help bringing it out?"

"That'd be great." Robbin, Don, and Glenn both jumped up and rushed back toward the house, finding Max now by the back stoop and running in aggravated circles, ears laid back. Robbin scooped his arms under his belly and picked him up, walking toward the house and chuckling as the dog clambered up him with his paws and flicked his pink tongue on Robbin's cheeks.

"I'm gonna go put the dog up first so he doesn't get freaked the fuck out. If the thunder hasn't done that already. I'll get the flares, and if you could go in the last cabinet by the door -I've got some matches and lighters in a metal bucket, and if you could bring those out in the bucket, Glenn. Don, of you could go under the sink and get the fire extinguisher -just so it's on hand in case shit happens."

Don groaned and got it out from under the sink. "We'd better hope we won't be needing this!"

"We shouldn't -you've done this before, Don. Don't tell me you're only afraid of them now!" Robbin came around from the closet under the steps with a box of colored flare sticks. "You ever shoot fireworks before, Glenn?"

"It's been a while, but I have once."

"Did ya like it?"

Glenn's eyes lit up as he thought of that night in 1975, the best year of his life, having climbed up to the rooftop with Tommy, who had then sprung the package of fireworks out of a bag in surprise.

_"Have you ever fired off one of these before?" Tommy had asked._

_"No, but I have seen them from a distance," Glenn had answered._

_"Well, I don't know if you've got a tradition for it, but in America we fire these off on our Independence Day," Tommy explained. "It's July Fourth, and while we're not where we can see a show, I don't see why we can't fire a few of 'em off here. Just for fun. If you can stand the sound, you have to try it -it's so much fun!"_

_"Any particular way to do it?" Glenn picked up a flare stick, intrigued._

_"These are the type that are on sticks designed to be held, so you don't have to worry about being safe as much. And we're off the ground, so we don't have leaves or grass to catch fire on us. You just gotta protect your eyes and keep it away from your face. Here, watch me first."_

_Glenn, under Tommy's warning, slid on his sunglasses to protect his eyes from any embers and casings to potentially blow back at them, and covered his ears while watching carefully how Tommy lit and held the stick of explosive by the end of the long wooden handle to shoot it safely away from them and not burn his hand holding it._

_The flare sizzled for a moment, then shot a sparkling streak to the sky. With the shot released, Tommy tossed the heated handle into the metal pail, and the streak burst in a collection of colorful embers -this one having gone off green -above them._

_Glenn watched as the colors sank through the sky, brighter at first, then fading until they fell to the ground cooled off. A grin crossed his features._

_Tommy held another flare stick toward Glenn. "Wanna try it?"_

_Still smiling as bright as the embers, Glenn took the flare stick from Tommy. They began taking turns lighting off the fireworks, watching the bright color blasts above them, trying to angle the lighter so they could light both of their sticks at once and get two in the sky at the same time. The last flare stick, which Tommy invited Glenn to shoot off, was an off-shade of blue that appeared purple against the red sunset._

_"You know, Glenn, it's kind of funny. Because before you took me home, I was ready to already start planning where I'd go after Deep Purple, because I didn't really want to be there," Tommy mused. "I'm still not sure how long I'll stay, but I like being in it with you. It's the most fun I've had, and as happy as I've been -and if I ever leave I'd hope we could eventually do something else together."_

_"I'd go with you. And you can always stay with me, Tommy. As long as you want to."_

"Glenn?" asked Robbin.

Glenn snapped out of his thoughts. "Oh, it was bloody fantastic!"

"Alright, so then you know what to do with these."

"We just gotta help my guys out." Don followed Robbin and Glenn outside.

"Set this up quick. Everyone, gather round!" Robbin began splitting up the flare sticks amongst them evenly and set the bucket in the middle for the handles to go in safely, demonstrating with Don and Glenn with their first flares how to safely light and aim them up. One by one, they all went around, releasing their first, then taking turns in groups, staggering their explosions in clusters.

"This is so fucking cool!" Paul hollered as they all looked to the sky, firing off the sticks

"Works out great, since unless they set them off early and there's a delay to the storm over there, they might end up postponing the show downtown to tomorrow night." Terry whooped as his red flare mixed perfectly with a blue one Don set off as they neared the end of the box's supply.

"Alright, everyone hold your flares," Robbin ordered. "I got some matches since we don't have enough lighters to do these all at once. On the countdown from three, we're all going to light these off at once so they fire real close to each other and make a big flash, okay? When I say 'one', we'll all ignite, so hitting zero will give the blast!"

They got sticks doled out, then matches and lighters.

"Alright, we got about one lighter per one match -except I'm lighting for both Don and Glenn. I'll count down, those with the lighters will light a match next to them, and we'll all light our flares at once. Okay...

"Three!"

Robbin flicked his lighter on and touched it to get both Glenn and Don's going. Around the circle of others, the same took place.

"Two!"

Everyone got their flames in line with the ignition spots.

"One!"

Flames touched flares, lighters flicked off, matches blew out, and the hissing of flares catching filled the air.

"And..."

Just as Robbin boomed a loud holler of 'blastoff!', every flare shot to the sky. A succession of booms echoed overhead. The noise was incredible. The colors were too. Sparks of red, blue, green, gold, silver, and purple flew through the air overhead, sinking to the ground and fading as the embers cooled, leaving a cloud of smoke hanging in the sky above, and everyone below standing on the ground looking to the sky, sending off peals of adrenaline-driven shouts.

"WHOOOO!!!" Robbin howled. "That was as good as it gets!"

He proceeded to snatch everyone in bear hugs, right as a white flash and clap of thunder replied to their blasts, the clouds broke loose, and the heavens began to throw down their own show of fireworks. Cries of surprise and hysterical laughter broke out across the yard as Robbin pulled away from Don -the last he hugged -calling for everyone to grab what they could and run inside.

He and Don were smiling so hard as they pulled apart and tried to fold up the table to bring inside, then roaring with laughter as Max climbed up all over everyone else trying to get in the door with the chairs, begging to be loved on after all that scary racket outside of the house!

Figuring they couldn't have been smiling any harder than he was, Glenn knew it had to be painful for them. His cheeks were burning, the cool rainfall shocked against hims arms so he shivered, and his ribs tingled from the tight squeeze Robbin gave him, nearly leaving him breathless.

But in that moment as everyone set things back up inside and Robbin tossed towels around to everyone, Glenn couldn't have cared less about how much his cheeks hurt, how he was soaking wet, how tired and weak he felt after a long day and residual withdrawals, or even not being able to consume any alcoholic beverages that he knew were in one of the coolers.

Standing in the yard next to Robbin and his overwhelming enthusiasm to do everything for pure fun and enjoyment, seeing how fast the good mood spread to everyone, for a short five minutes, he was back on the rooftop in 1975 shooting his first firework off with Tommy Bolin.


	13. Waiting for a Sign

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A rainy day traps Don and Glenn in the house, leading to an impromptu deep talk about past bandmates. Later in the week, Don arrives home to a letter from Wild Mick.

Following the fireworks and late night hangout at Robbin's house, it rained torrentially through the entire day of the fifth, just as expected.

Terry left the party early with the concern of living on a low-lying street and needing to get home and with his car in the driveway in time to beat the deeper ponding that would begin just after the initial flash flood receded.

Though the rainstorm chased them inside before 10:00, it wasn't until midnight that Don and Glenn headed back to the house, having to detour the long way to the neighborhood to avoid the lower cross streets. By that point, the excitement had already left and the party was long over, but hanging out with the thunder and lightening outside the dark windows had made for a good end to the evening. Glenn was "knackered" as he put it upon arriving home, and nearly crashing out asleep on his feet for all the possible good reasons to do so.

Quite the opposite, Don was wide awake despite feeling drained. It wasn't for what he could call bad reasons either, just reasons to be conflicted. He had a lot to think about, climbing into bed and listening to the rain pattering abstract rhythms on the roof and the rumble of the thunder as it settled from loud crashes to low and soothing. Lying flat on his back, he'd watched the distant flashes of lightening through the raised blinds of the window behind the bed as he thought on the events of the evening, until after some time his eyes finally grew heavy and the world went dark.

Now the thunder and lightening were gone, the skies were grey, and rain fell steadily with the occasional wind gust blowing a visible sheet in the rainfall.

Don sat at the kitchen table, flipping through his lyric notebook and contemplating a few old sheets he'd written on whatever piece of paper he could get his hands on when he'd not had a notebook on hand and an idea had pressed down on him.

Feeling picked up enough from the incident a few days ago, he'd finished lyrics to go with one of Billy's riffs -dubbing the in-progress track "Down in Flames" over late morning coffee. Now he was contemplating what was next, and once again considering unused old ideas. They still needed more songs than what they'd worked out -and so far the quiet of the rain outside had gotten him into a state of focus he couldn't always get to.

Sometime as he was reading through the old sheets, Glenn woke up and joined him to sit on the opposite side of the kitchen table. He looked out the adjacent window at the droplets bouncing off the concrete of the driveway and the water flowing down the gentle slope toward the street to collect in the gutter, chasing down to the storm drain.

"I suppose we're not getting out of the house today, unless we're trying to get soaked," he finally chirped up after an extended quiet.

"Probably not," agreed Don. "Unless we want to copy Robbin's idea with planning on bathing Max out in the rain and we wash the cars here, but I'm not feeling it right now. That's a lot of rain for here."

"I saw a lot of it in Atlanta. It rained quite often there."

"Not surprised. That's a wetter climate than here, that's for sure. Makes it humid enough to smother you though -I never liked performing out there in the summer time. Got things untuned too -the road crew really hated it."

"I don't mind a little bit of it, though I probably would have gotten tired of it keeping me stuck inside if it weren't for being too sick to go outside," Glenn spoke after a moment of thought. "And I can't remember how much I disliked playing in the rain -I suppose it did complicate things on top of the obvious getting wet. It's just been so long, and I wasn't all there."

"One time George actually got electrocuted because water got past the plastic the roadies try to tape around the cord connections to the amps." Don grinned at the picture the memory put in his mind. "He started freaking out in between the set. Now I guess it's kind of funny he tried to blame me for it at one point, as though he thought I had any control over rain getting onstage. I was pissed when it happened though."

"Forget it happening onstage. I'll just be happy to never see a hurricane or tropical storm again in my life, if there's one reason for me to never live in Atlanta again," Glenn piped up. "They happen here, but they happen so often on the Atlantic -and the nor'easter storms. It used to scare me half to death there with trees falling down and siding getting pulled off houses. And looking outside to find flooding up to my front doorstep."

"Hey, we still get earthquakes here. I don't think you can find a place where drama won't get to you in some form. Even Terry called to say it's a good thing we called today off, because he has water up to his step." Don looked out the window and gave a deadpan expression before unleashing a low, dry laugh.

"What is it?" asked Glenn.

"I just think of how many people out there wouldn't be able to fathom us as normal people having a Fourth of July party in a backyard, or sitting at a table in a house watching the rain and talking about the weather. They think we're always all dolled up in our stage gear for life and think they know it all -give me a break."

"I wish that hadn't been true for me at one point with the drugs. It's why I moved out there and tried to hide away where nobody would know me personally."

Deciding he didn't want to go back to the topic of drugs and potentially end up dwelling on the incident just a few days ago, Don started to shift his notebook sheet over toward Glenn to ask about the lyrics, and pulled them back, hesitating.

He could see on another loose sheet tucked in the front underneath it where he'd scribbled lyrics that had ended up being used, written and composed fully in an older notebook. The unused lyrics placed next to the three lines left behind only made both sting more.

_...Won't you stay? Can't you see my love is waiting here? Stay. Don't leave me drowning in my tears..._

_...I'm still waiting, standing here, waiting for a sign. I didn't mean to break your heart, I wish it had been mine. Just walk away, there'll be no more tomorrow. Just walk away, you won't be there for me..._

Even scarier was just how relevant they'd become last night, following his encounter with Mick.

Don tucked the lyrics inside and slapped the notebook shut.

Glenn looked up from the window.

"Don, are you-?"

"Just give me a moment to think, Glenn. In quiet. Please."

He leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, listening to the drumming of the rain on the window pane until the feeling of electrocution in his chest and the feeling of being squeezed in the throat backed off enough that he could think straight.

 _These lyrics are so personal._ Performing them live had the potential to be a bear if showing them to Glenn was scary enough.

_They're too real to waste though._

Sneaking just a hint of a look in his peripheral vision, Don took the scrap with the four lines of "Walk Away" he'd come up with on the fly, making sure he wasn't grabbing the wrong sheet.

Not taking a look further at it, he walked over to the kitchen garbage can and loudly tore it up. First with three long, angry, snatching rips down the length of the paper with no real thought as to how to divide the paper. His next attacks were far more strategic, looking at the jagged ribbons that had formed, dividing those with punctuated flicks of his wrists, stacking the pieces up and ripping the stacks in half.

Glenn sneaked small, cautious glances across the room, eyes growing wider and wider as the sections of paper got smaller and smaller. By now, Don had again lost his rhythm to tearing the paper, seeming to be lost in thought and not even aware he was still doing it as the scraps he worked at became confetti in his fingertips, nails digging into the pads of his forefingers and thumbs until some of the yellowed paper stained red when a small, cracked callus split and began bleeding. 

Two possible extremes of reactions came to Glenn's mind -pretending he didn't see it, or 'the David Coverdale response.' He chose to walk the uncertain grey area between the two.

Don flinched when Glenn was suddenly next to him, and Glenn's hands were pulling the paper scraps out of his -taking the confetti and discarding it in the can, and leaving the larger pieces on the shelf above it in case he wanted to further destruct them later. A folded paper towel replaced the note paper in his hands as Glenn backed away, removing the sudden claustrophobia. 

Wincing as the pain began to register, Don pressed the towel to the split alongside his index finger, before turning to meet Glenn's face, which was still gripped by fear.

"You don't have to tell me about those," he spurted. "Unless you want to, but I'm not going to ask-"

"They've already been used." Don sighed and walked back to the table, coming back to reality from wherever the heck he'd just been. Even he wasn't sure what had just happened, or whether he was more annoyed or grateful to have been pulled out of it prematurely.

"It was the last song we recorded together. Those weren't even the full lyrics -I saw the sheet and I don't want to see it anymore."

"Well, I'd say it's gone now, or never to be the same." Glenn tried to sound cheerful even though he was audibly unnerved.

 _Alright, enough of this_. Don slid the sheet of unused lyrics across the table to Glenn, deciding if he'd shown him other personal lyrics, he might as well show these. Maybe Glenn was a recovering junkie, but he wasn't stupid. He usually knew a lot, and Don had already figured out that a lot of the questions he asked at random, he already knew the gist of the answer -he just asked anyway to see what details he could pull out of it, and to find a source of conversation. For all he knew, Glenn knew more about the lyrics than he realized he did even without seeing them.

Cautiously, Glenn took and read them over, tracing his finger under each word.

"These are rather deep," he finally remarked. "But these feel different from the others I've seen. There's loss in them, but it's more of a denial, as though it hasn't happened yet. How old are these?"

"Back to '87. Before we all fell apart. I wrote it to use there, but abandoned it. I don't want to waste them, they'd fit, but it's a big question whether to use them now."

"If you're asking for how to style them, I think they would sound good as another power ballad. A heavier one, like how you styled "In My Dreams," said Glenn. "Unless you have another way you like better, but that would feel natural and suit it as much as going slow would. They might not be as daunting to perform that way, if they're as personal as I suspect they are."

Don nearly rolled his eyes. "I can assure you they are."

"Did you write these by yourself, or with someone else?"

"I borrowed two lines from a session writer Wyn had me working with as part of getting a record deal when John and I were forming the band up. The 'every night your name is on my lips, I feel your body at my fingertips' part. The rest of it..."

Don trailed off, checking his fingertip, which had stopped bleeding.

"What is it?" asked Glenn.

"Interesting timing on this -and I guess I might as well stop putting it off when you're going to get me to tell about it at some point anyway. You wanted me to tell you about Mick Brown the other week. And that's just it."

"And you saw Mick last night and went to the front to speak with him-" Glenn's eyes lit up as everything clicked together. "Ooh, now I see -that's a tough one too, if-"

"I worked on these with Mick when we were working on _Back for the Attack_ , and that time-"

"You touched on that briefly when you were talking about George."

"Yep," said Don. "And we knew it was a matter of time. At least I did. I think he did deep down, but he would do anything to avoid thinking about it that it ended up catching him later. There was that point during the writing process where it improved and was stable for a bit. But before that, we were done. I was done, George was done, Jeff and Mick were so worn out from touring that they would have been done if we called it. But we still had the contract and we'd written so much on the road that we had to use it. Jeff and George were always close, and Mick and I were close enough that we didn't exactly want to up and leave each other, or see it fall apart that way. We weren't ready. And you mentioned denial -it was a denial song. We just never finished the lyrics and never handed it off to Jeff and George to do the music. We chose other things for the album, and if you think of it, 'Back for the Attack' -it was us bouncing back from what we'd had for that one last chance before giving it up."

"There wasn't a chance to use it later? The song?"

"We could have used that as our bonus track on the live album, but it didn't feel right. There wasn't any denying it, and by then we were past ready to be done with the band. So we did 'Walk Away'."

"The lyrics you just tore up were from that," Glenn thought aloud.

Don sighed and looked up to the ceiling.

"Let's talk about the ones still on the table if we're still talking about lyrics. I don't want to talk about the ones that are written and done."

"Those? I'd say they're relatable and some could appreciate them. I relate to them, aside from the denial part -with Tommy. I still can't figure it out how to sum up just how special he is. Still is."

Don didn't bother to ask why Glenn used present terms, knowing he had his reasons aside from denial. It didn't stop him from being the one to dig this time, whether it was to delay talking about Mick, or to seek something relatable.

"You've said some things about Tommy before, but never really talked in depth to me about him. All I know is that you two were close -still are, I suspect in your own way -and that he replaced Ritchie and wasn't really given a fair shot for what he could do because he wasn't him." _One of the reasons I didn't bother considering to push George out and carry on without him when we were already so far gone._

"What was he like?"

Glenn perked up in some way Don hadn't seen him before -it wasn't a sort of hyper excitement, but something deeper and more distant. His eyes didn't widen so much as they shifted about as if chasing several tangents of thought.

"Tommy," he finally began, still stumbling through unorganized thoughts with too much excitement to slow down and get his bearings "-He was everything to me. I ought to -before I even talk about him, just to really give the story and understanding of it -you see, Tommy replaced Ritchie, who is of course one of the more notorious ones in Purple who I got to know. When I first joined, we had him."

Glenn paused and his mouth hitched in an awkward smile as he met Don's eyes.

"Sometimes you remind me of Ritchie, if I'm just seeing you from across the room or of the likes. But that's if he weren't so stubborn and rigid and a lot more silly. And it's not that he isn't -he really can be outright hilarious when he wants to. There was one moment onstage one night he grabbed my bass and we were playing and dueling with our instruments. He was laughing his head off! It was a wonderful moment -oh, if only we could have had more like that with him -but that wasn't the sense of humor we often got. It was the dry, deadpan jokes where he could trick some. Usually we knew when he was doing it, but we weren't ever able to tell how far he was taking it. He really was the evil one of us."

"I've heard about that. George talked about meeting him once. Actually scared him, and George being the way he is from that point on had nothing good to say about him." Don paused to laugh. "At first he was almost as intrigued with him as Van Halen -not anymore! Disagree with George, and he's either argumentative for life or he has to twist everything up with lies to make himself right- and that's even funnier that you say that, since he can't stand either of us."

"Sounds like he and Ritchie could have held out in a battle of words. But Ritchie would have been one step ahead, because he could have figured him out. He pulled a lot of pranks by action on us too. But he was serious about doing it, and by that I mean there was such an intricate plan behind each one, and it was just cruel in nature. If there was ever a definition of organized chaos, it was Ritchie's prank schemes."

"I could imagine."

"The truth is, and before I go on to make my point, I do see Ritchie as a good friend in my past. He just wasn't the type I could get but so close to, and that has a meaning to it for me."

"How about David?" asked Don. "I hear about him then and again."

"Oh, David's great," Glenn exclaimed. "It's quite funny; when we first joined -I remind you I'm a tad younger than him -he was automatically glued to me, as we were both the new, and he was as green in the horns as a frontman in rock and roll could have stood onstage with. Looking back, he was like my little brother, and I watched him grow up as we got up to all kinds of trouble with each other. We weren't 'The Unrighteous Brothers' for nothing -though we really didn't see ourselves as brothers at that time! Then he began to sort himself out, got his footing and confidence, and he even went through the brother tattle-tale phase. He's definitely the older brother now, still chasing after me and trying to see that I'm not getting into any more trouble than I was. Not that I think there was much left to get into-"

"-I don't want you going to find out either," Don cut in. "We're not conjecturing that. No more."

"I don't wish to either. But at that time, David and I were closest, but there was always a sense of tension. We weren't always all there and happy, and it was a matter of time before Ritchie up and left. And it made it hard to always hang with David because he would get himself into such a panic over it. Jon and Ian were the most stable at that time -and on the aside I've already told you about Jon. He was a great friend to spend time with. If he got to being funny, he'd hardly let you have a break from the stitches; he really was a lot of fun. But he was stubborn when he wanted to be, or when he was stressed -and while he would find a way to do it kindly, he would not hesitate to tell you if he didn't like something he did -which leaves me unsure where we stand now. Ian was more distant -he was always the quiet one, supposedly, but he'd settled down and wasn't eager to spend nights out and about. I guess that's part of why he's more forgiving of me, but then he is more reserved to really going after one. If he does choose to be honest though, he'll tell it exactly as it is."

"Nothing wrong with that." Don rolled his eyes, thinking of George. "It's better than having a compulsive liar in the band."

"Probably so," Glenn mused. "He did organize a lot of things the rest of us would have hated to deal with too, and we did have some fun times. If there was something that caught his interest he would come out and be talkative -you never got him talking about football past the score of the game unless you wanted to talk about it for hours. Actually, on a day like today in a hotel, we would have probably been inside watching a game on the telly. Perhaps it was one of the only relaxing things I did on the road.

"But then Ritchie left, and it really was similar with what you describe, because those two questioned ending it there. Maybe continuing Deep Purple as denial, and I know it's how they feel. But I can't help but feel that it was meant to be with us getting Tommy. Not only because I just knew when I saw him -by his presence -but because I almost didn't go to sit in on that audition. I wasn't feeling well, I didn't want to -I was too high and with Bowie -and he talked me into going. And of course, I've told you the next part."

"Yeah, you have." Don nodded. "You saw him and said that if he didn't make it, you would take him home. And you still ended up taking him home even when he did."

"And right then I was in love, because we'd only been away from that audition for two hours before he started to drop that sort of cover we all have in that setting -the formal and superficial, or as he called it, the 'behaving myself for luck' -and we really began getting to know each other and knew that we were going to have something special."

"What were things like with him?"

Glenn stayed quiet in thought for a moment.

"Don, there are so many ways to put it, and I couldn't fully sum it all up. It was truly special too. If I had to describe him as a person in terms of who you know, your friend Robbin has somewhat of the same aura. Loves everyone and a good time, huge heart, lives the debauched lifestyle but still seems so innocent beside others and life just isn't fair to them. But Tommy -he was shy at first. There was a quiet, and it drew me in trying to know him. Then when he opened up to me, there was so much more than what was already there -that was what we had.

"He would do things just for the fun of it, and he was happy to do things for the sake of making other people happy, but not to the point of neglecting himself. It was such a change that at first it brought the band together -we were truly like a family for a time. But it went past that for me. He was sensitive, but he was open and vulnerable with me so that I could look out for him too -there was a closeness and trust I didn't have with anyone else. Really, he was affectionate and for the physical closeness. It's not something so readily given where I come from, but the moment he saw I was standing for him and would look out for him, it was there, and he always looked out for me too. Even when I managed to get all the others -even David -so fed up that they could hardly deal with me. He just started having trouble too, especially when audiences were so cruel because he wasn't Blackmore -and somewhere along the way things went out of hand, that was the end of the band and we were on to other things, and tragedy struck." Glenn paused to wipe at his eyes. "And everything's been a blur ever since. He's with me in spirit, but I don't know what normal is supposed to be. Perhaps one day when I straighten myself out with this process and pull the things I can remember together, I'll find the way to do him justice."

"I'll bet you already do. Because you cared about him before any of your bandmates ever did." Reaching over, Don sneaked a look at the jade where it sat on the edge of the table against the windowsill, still with the strands of soft, green, woody material winding its way around the injury. It hadn't changed much in the last couple of days, but he couldn't help but wonder if it was just perking up a little more.

"So..." Also sneaking a look at the plant, Glenn reached for a pen on the table to update the note he had beside it and another tick-mark for another day. Another day of recovery for both of them. 

"What was Mick like?"

"Not like any of your bandmates. But he sure was something. He's crazy. We don't call him wild for nothing."

Glenn cracked a smile. "I gathered that the way he came up last night."

Don snorted and fell short of a pained laugh.

"I don't know how special people thought he was in the band, but he was special for me. He was for all of us, but he was the one I could hang out with. Mick was there for me when none of the others were -right up until the process of the split."

He gave a flat chuckle that hid so much pain behind it that Glenn felt his heart aching in half the ways he'd felt for nearly fifteen years.

"I'd bet you he was the only one of them who even cared."

Glenn nodded in acknowledgement and stood up.

"I promised to myself I would block Mick out of my mind -I wouldn't talk about him, or think about him by his actual name. But I was thinking about him in a way. Because I was making the conscious decision to not do anything I'd have done with him -I don't have another excuse for why my bike hasn't moved since then, and that's just one thing. If I started to think about it, I'd do whatever to think about something else. That was part of what led to this solo project, which I'm having fun doing, but I already know it's not going to do anywhere near as well, and it's gonna crush me after I pour my heart out in it so I won't have it in me to do anymore albums. I tell myself all the time that I don't miss any of them or the band so I won't think about it. Truth is, of course it's a God-damned lie."

Another flat chuckle. Don looked over his shoulder to honestly speak to Glenn, who now stood behind him.

"Yeah, I do wish he were still here."

He turned back to the surface of the table to tuck the sheets back in the lyric notebook, beginning to place the lyrics he'd written with Mick within another page -where it would be easy to find for use.

Glenn's arms suddenly snaked down from the back of the chair and around his shoulders in an embrace.

"If I were Mick, I'd come back for you."

Sighing deeply, Don crossed his wrists against his chest and place his hands on top of Glenn's as the rainy quiet reclaimed the house again.

............

The rest of the week proceeded as an ordinary one in L.A. in the studio, the only difference being that even though the flooding receded, the rain continued up until the day Don left when the stationary front finally decided to stop trying to drown everyone and move on. 'Glorified babysitting' was more exhausting with the added task of mopping up the lakes on the floor from six -sometimes seven when Glenn tagged along -sets of rain gear before leaving for the day. By the time Don set off on the road home, he was excited to leave for a week, and Glenn was just excited to get out of the house without getting soaked.

As usual, before pulling up to the back of the driveway upon getting home, Don opened the mailbox and looked to see what had come in while he was away.

There was the usual junk, rent from the studio and legal documents on the recordings they'd finished, and finally, a letter addressed from Robbin's house that seemed unusually thick and heavy for the average mail letter. Don ended up opening it up right there in the car.

Within the outer envelope, there was another letter envelope wrapped in a simple sheet of paper with a note from Robbin.

_He didn't have your current phone number or know if you'd changed your preference to a different postage box, so he sent it to me and called to ask if I could send it forward. I can't tell you what it says because I didn't look, but this could be a sign for you. I'd say you should check it out. -Robbin_

Don set aside the note and sat holding and looking at the inner envelope for several minutes. There in the top left corner of the outside in the familiar scrawl was the return address to Scottsdale, Arizona he'd had no knowledge of until now.

Opening that revealed a folded sheet of note paper with numbers between slashes and hyphens marking ranges of dates, a couple of phone numbers, and an alternate postage box address scribbled on the outside of the fold. Any messier and it would have been illegible. Unfolding revealed a note inside. It was one of the shortest letters Don had seen, but it said every bit as much as one three times its length.

_Don,_

_Look, I tried to think of something serious to say here, since it's been awhile, and I know we're uncertain as to where we stand with each other lately. But let's face it, letters have never been my rhythm (bah-DUM-tiss!) and the waiting around never was a thing for either of us, so I have my phone number at the bottom and the days I should be close by and available. Talk or go hang out, I'm good with whatever, it's your call. I think it's about time we find out what's going on and start getting things right._

_-Wild Mick_

Heart speeding up to a nervous gallop, Don flipped the sheet back over to the ranges of dates. The soonest one was July eighteenth to the twenty-fourth. The whole range of time he'd be in the city with Glenn after this week, where Mick could so easily arrange to be around.

Finding himself still staring at the paper minutes later, with a sigh, Don gathered up the rest of the mail, stacking Mick's letter on top and keeping his thumb clamped down tight on it as he exited the car and headed inside his house for another much needed night to himself ahead of the week.

Perhaps, he mused, this was indeed the sign he'd been unknowingly waiting for.


	14. Moondance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mick comes to town to see and catch up with Don. They reminisce and tell stories of what they've been up to, only to realize they might not be as far apart as they realize, which leads to them spending more time together than expected. With a night to himself out and about in the city, Glenn finds himself reminiscing too, and feeling closer with Tommy in spirit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the lyrics or rights to "Moondance" (the song).

Much to Don's relief, the minor argument that had ended his last time with his band had resolved itself in the week he was away. Peter had perked up with some time to relax at home, John was once again calm and organized, and most importantly, Mikkey and Billy were laughing and joking with each other as they carried the former's drums inside -Mikkey being his usual cheerful self and Billy bringing along his jokes and plenty of riffs and leads to build on. 

Their first day back to the grind was as good as it could have gone with Wyn showing up with some camera techs to get some footage for a music video -which Don could already tell would look far less stupid and more natural with the footage in the house being their setup in the conservatory -writing, talking, and playing around.

Getting to throw silver balls across the table at Billy had been fun, for the monster he'd created at the start with them. So much fun that when he'd thrown the three that Peter had out in a previous shot, he got carried away and threw two apples from a bowl on the table, which even amused Wyn when Billy gave a cry for mercy that apples were _not_ for throwing.

"We can get some shots at the studio for it too, and I wouldn't mind if I could get some of you at the airport and on the road, but we can do that when all of this is done," Wyn offered.

"Whatever works," said John. "If it's not a ridiculous process and it gets done without driving us crazy, then we're good." After many a mishap in Dokken, Don couldn't agree more.

The week at home went by so fast that it felt like it was a rug, and it had been yanked right out from underneath him. Despite the visit of cameras, going in the studio to do official tracks on "When Some Nights," and finally getting to putting down crude tracks to what they had officially renamed "1000 Miles Away" -which somehow wasn't as difficult for Don to deal with for two days straight as he'd feared it might be.

He wouldn't decide for sure, but left it a possibility in his mind that it went easier because while he worked on it by day, he was making phone calls by night. Short exchanges that hardly lasted more than a few minutes to avoid long distance charges. But they were worth the whole night.

By the time the week was over and he was heading back to the city, it was settled.

Mick Brown was coming in from Arizona on July twentieth. In two days. By himself, and with no other commitments to be anywhere until the afternoon of the next day in San Diego. For better or worse, Don would be seeing him again, possibly for an hour, and possibly for the whole night.

He returned to the city to a much better situation with Glenn than on his last return. Glenn had begun searching for rehabilitation support groups he would inevitably need to stay on track once Don was on tour. Even though he had only started searching and was far from a decision, being in a more social environment was working wonders on him in addition to feeling even stronger physically. The sense of regaining some freedom was perking his spirits too.

A month ago, even during his rapid improvement, Don couldn't see a realistic continuation of Glenn staying clean yet. Now, though it was still faint, he could see him doing well once he was off on tour. They still had some time to work things out.

There were things he just had to work out sooner.

The morning of the twentieth, Don spent the car ride through traffic to the studio giving Glenn advance notice of Mick's evening visit.

"He's coming to see you?" Glenn perked up in the front passenger seat, sitting up and looking over his left shoulder with both hands up on the dashboard. He almost resembled a puppy on it's first ride in the car. "Don, that's great!"

"I'm still not too sure if I can call it great yet." Don held onto the back of his chair uneasily. "It's sounding and looking a whole lot better than it would have a couple weeks ago, but it's hard to say. Only one way to really find out."

Glenn dropped his voice to a knowing whisper. "Is this something where the two of you, you know, might need some privacy? Should I stay upstairs or in my room, or perhaps arrange to go to Terry's and see if there's anything I could help him with outside of the studio, or-?"

Sighing, Don let go of the chair and walked about the kitchen, thinking to himself.

"Glenn, I'm not looking to put you in an uncomfortable position. I want you to do what you want -this is your place to stay right now, and if you want to stay in tonight, then that's just it. We'll accommodate that. Honestly, if things end up going well -last a couple of hours and we're up for more together, Mick and I might end up driving up to my house until morning. If you'd be more comfortable going out, that's fine, but I'd rather you do something you're going to enjoy, save for anything doomed to get you in trouble. You can go to town, or check the map and take the Jeep somewhere out of town -whatever you want that's fun and safe for you."

He paused and shook his head wearily. "And I'll hope that I'm right in thinking I might not be getting myself in a world of trouble with this too."

............

Having a half-day in the studio meant only Tony was there, which eliminated any chance of an argument between him and Mark. If trouble was coming in the evening, then both Don and Glenn had been spared for the day. Tony and Paul worked with Don while Glenn worked with Patt and Terry, and so long as Mark was onboard when they got back with him, they'd have another track ready for their next week in recording. A rare occasion, everyone left the studio feeling satisfied with what they'd gotten done.

Upon arriving home, the tune changed as Glenn headed to his room to determine what to do with himself, and as Don went through the final preparation -asking himself once again what the hell he was getting into.

Before Don knew it, and regardless of whether he was ready, he was standing on the front stoop as Mick's truck rounded the corner and parked in front of the house.

Mick stepped out of his truck, looking more like himself than the previous encounter, as much as he still had then. Even without the excessive lift he used to achieve with countless cans of spray, his mane of blond hair blew out everywhere from the rush of wind from driving on the interstate with the windows down, and he still wore the habitual bandana on his wrist. Don could see through the back window of the truck cab a suitcase, and a backpack to function as an overnight bag.

_Only Mick Brown could get a break from near non-stop touring after seven years and voluntarily spend enough time on the road to still live up to the hotel alias of Sam Samsonite,_ he thought to himself.

"Well." Mick chuckled gruffly as he made his way up the front walk. "Howdy."

"We meet again." Don had to inwardly remind himself that there was no sense in backing away or freezing up now that Mick was here. Knowing he'd had plenty of warning and he'd planned on it happening made him feel pretty helpless and annoyed that he was close to it.

"I'd say that's pretty quick compared to the last time; good lord."

"No shit."

A moment of tense silence hung before Mick broke it painfully.

"Fuck. I know we're in an awkward as hell moment right now, but we'll see if it gets better as we go."

Don exhaled slowly and looked over his shoulder toward the house. At least Mick was in the same boat then.

"Well, let's start by going inside. A few things inside are different since our time before _Under Lock and Key_ , especially since I've had some subleases. And I don't know if Robbin told you I've got Glenn Hughes hanging out here lately."

"He might've mentioned -is he home?"

"Unless he left on foot in the time I've been outside and sneaked real good, his car's here -I think he's getting ready to leave though. Everything else in here doesn't have much new to it. Mostly just how it was."

"So, what's it like having him around?" asked Mick. "Given where he's been, if it weren't for what I heard of him in Sabbath -I know you've always been a big fan of his. That's gotta be pretty damn cool."

"It's been interesting." Don shrugged and opened the door, walking inside with Mick following on his heels. "He didn't end up with me under the best reasons, but we've done some neat things together when he's feeling well. I don't have any regrets yet, so I'm not gonna worry about that any more than I should and already do."

Mick stalled in the stairwell hallway, just to get a look at the entryway he hadn't seen in so long. It was familiar and unfamiliar at the same time -faded in memory with far more things on the coat rack than two lone rain jackets and a single basket on the shelf for keys and other miscellaneous things.

"This is like returning to an old home after forgetting all about it."

"Fair way of putting it." Don closed the door. "It's a little less unfamiliar to me when I had to stop in and do some work with it over the years."

Mick flinched -so hard that he all but jumped back against the wall at the sound of a door opening down the hallway. Glenn's room door.

Don noticed the sudden paleness to Mick's cheeks and the lost, dull look in his eyes as the startle wore off -the look he'd come to know more than he ever expected to in the past couple of months with Glenn. Granted Mick didn't look anywhere near as helpless or sick, and seemed to shake it off in a matter of seconds.

It still felt wrong to Don, seeing someone as outgoing and unintimidated as Mick experiencing paranoia at the sound of a door.

Glenn came down the hall dressed comfortably for walking in the city, carrying a light jacket and a pair of sandals Don deduced he was taking in case he decided to go down to the beach.

He greeted Mick with the typical Glenn Hughes bright tone and a hesitant grin.

"Hello!"

"I hear you've been hanging out here." Mick nodded and saluted playfully.

"Heading out?" 

"I'm going to ride around some and just see what I can remember. Might park and walk around if I'm in the city, but I'm staying out of bars and off the back city roads."

"Sound's fine; whatever's good for you." Don shrugged. "Alright, Glenn, go enjoy yourself."

"You two should enjoy yourselves too," he retorted, before slipping out the front door.

As Don and Mick settled in the living room, they could see Glenn drive off in the Jeep through the window. Mick only sat down after inspecting the room, which was mostly the same, save for blankets and extra pillows being stacked by the one couch Glenn often hung out on, and a lack of the mess and extra furniture that was always around in the earlier days of Dokken when they'd have spent time there.

"So, is Glenn working with you on your solo work, or is he just living here?"

Filling in Mick on how Glenn ended up with him was an easy start for Don, not having to go into what he'd been through personally.

"Right now, he's struggling -I don't think he's having nearly as much trouble as he was, but until it gets to a point he hides it pretty well. He's even better now then when he slipped a couple weeks ago, but I still have the feeling there are still a few tough things to deal with."

"Was he 'down to the ground' low?"

Don groaned. "I wouldn't know blow terminology because I don't do it, but from what I saw, I'd be willing to bet he was. That first week was just sad. Curled up, too sick to do anything, and he had the paranoia and emotional stuff all over the place -it made Jeff's episodes look mild. He was sick as a fucking dog."

"Yeah, that sounds right. About Jeff, from what I heard from George when we were figuring things out and before he decided to go off on his own, he had some pretty sad nights." Mick nodded. "And I kind of backed off my use just from not being on the road before I really started trying to break it this year. I think that helped keep the initial withdrawals from being what they'd have been, but I gotta admit I've had a few days camped on the bathroom floor with ten blankets and a robe around me."

Taking a slow, deep breath, Don leaned forward and rested his head against his fist, putting pressure between his eyes and on the bridge of his nose with his knuckles. Picturing Mick suffering even more of the same hell he'd watched Glenn encounter that first week -though it was no surprise -cut like a compression band around his chest squeezing far too tight. 

"I think we've all had our share of rough nights." _And maybe some of us more than that._ He sat back up. "Think you're past that at least?"

"Just the occasional slip, and I'd be done with the symptoms if my nose could decide to stop bleeding or running at nothing." Mick jokingly pressed his palm to the tip of his nose. "I can't tell if it's not still sore! Anyway, so you're hanging out here in the city when you still have your other place? What for?"

Relieved to get away from the touchy subject of drugs with knowing that Mick was at least making progress, Don sat back in his chair and casually crossed his ankle over his knee in a figure four.

"That's a long story of its own." He went on to tell about his previous project with XYZ, which led to an exchange on adapting to their new settings following Dokken.

"Hey, if it makes you feel any better, George is already having to find another singer for the next album, because the one we have on tour with us right now says he's done after our next tour segment when we pick this one back up through August and September, and George is just about done with him," Mick tried.

"Maybe it does." Don couldn't bring himself to laugh about that as much as he wanted to. It didn't stop him from catching the grief for Dokken, not that it was worth more than a grain of salt. Instead of dwelling on it, he went on to describe his current situation with XYZ.

"This time they don't want any advice on how to do things, or help with any of their writing unless they specifically say they're stuck and need it, because they're trying to create their own sound. I won't mix anything, because they want to record it live in the studio, but they need somebody to help them mix demos with the big soundboards to experiment with effects that can be applied live -that way the engineers with Geffen don't completely blow a fuse before they get done recording the whole thing and charge them millions that they know I won't. It's kind of ridiculous, but it was something to do with myself."

"Hey, if I got paid to push a few buttons, move some sliders on the effect board, and sit back all day, if I could entertain myself there with something, I'd be all set for a couple of months between tours!" Mick covered his eyes and shook his head. "But oh, they wouldn't want me there, 'cause lord knows I'd encourage them to get up to all kinds of fucking trouble and they'd never get anything done!"

"I call it 'glorified babysitting' with the zoo show they put on some days, but depending in who you'd be with, they might be babysitting you," Don muttered.

Mick leaned back and howled, and finally, Don brought himself to crack a smile and laugh too.

"And you know they would! Oh, lord... So, here's all about proximity?"

"There was a time last year where I was driving back and forth to get to them, and sometimes they were coming to my place. Maybe that worked when I'd just about lost my mind, but no way in hell was I doing that again for something as simple as this. So I stay every other week here. And right when it was about to start I picked Glenn up -got him flown in from Atlanta -and I help him out some here too."

"Anything you've done different in the house aside from in here and outside? Because I get a good enough feeling that Glenn didn't put the plants everywhere," joked Mick.

"I can show you some things -aside from the downstairs bedroom where Glenn's staying, it's mostly got less things in it than there were." Don stood up and showed Mick the kitchen -mostly the same, but with minimal supplies out, and the dining room, which still had a hutch to store dishes in but had remained mostly empty since Don's move.

"Come on, we'll go upstairs where we used to spend the most time." Don led Mick up to the office. "There's still some old gear and Glenn has his bass stuff. The TV's still in that small room we would take breaks in, but that's about it."

Mick walked around to look in the other room, and back in the office. It didn't have nearly as many amps, pedals, or used coffee mugs lying around -same as with the living room -but it wasn't too empty. There was still a wide, open space in the corner where he'd often set up drums if he worked something out at Don's house.

"It's a bit empty, but not as much as it could be -you had me expecting to come up here and see something sad. I think the plants downstairs help -and Don, who other than you-?"

"Hey, I had to do something if I was going to be around here half the time." Don wished there wasn't enough distance in time between them to cross the room and shove Mick playfully.

"It makes it feel like someplace you'd be, even if it is kind of empty. Any plans with it?"

"Actually," Don paused, knowing Mick would probably be struck more than himself, "I don't really have an attachment to it these days. It's been so long since it was my main place, and usually it's just a chore to deal with the renting it out now. This summer it's been helpful, but I just don't see myself having use for it after this."

Mick responded after a moment's delay. "Well, I can always count on you to find some way to surprise me -that's what's sad. Man, I guess I coulda seen that one coming though."

"To be frank, I'm not sure why I didn't see getting rid of it sooner. Once I'm done here in the city, I'm just gonna move everything else I have in it that I want out. Glenn can continue there and I can hand it over to him if he wants it -if not, I'll sell it and that's the end of me with this house. Pretty much..."

Don trailed off and met eyes with Mick as realization hit and they stayed quiet for a few minutes, looking about the office and trying to place the items and missing items in the room as though it were 1984.

"We had a lot of fun times in this house." Mick looked wistful. "Oh boy, I almost forget some of that 'til I really stop and think. And to think then we thought we weren't having such a great time, trying to get Tooth and Nail through and getting a tour booked before it started to hit!"

"Got this house as soon as we finished Tooth and Nail and it started selling -before we knew what kind of a tour we'd have and if we'd be lucky to just get ourselves well enough to be comfortable -after we'd already had the drama-"

"-finding Jeff after Juan left," said Mick.

"And trying to get things straight with the record company so they wouldn't completely choke us off," added Don.

"You and Michael Wagener mixing half the record behind our back because we didn't want it. Even though I've admitted he did well."

Don sighed. "Michael and I would stay up all night to do that. And I'd be so tired getting to the studio. Then would hear Juan next door arguing with Blotz and Stephen -if it wasn't us blowing up, shit was hitting the fan next door..."

"Ugh." Mick shook his head. "All that ended up being nothing."

"We were fighting, but we weren't fed up with each other yet." _George drove me crazy and I knew he was nothing but trouble, but I still had reasons to like him as a person. And Jeff and I were still fine with each other -"Alone Again" was proof of that._ "We could still all have fun with each other -all four of us -outside of knocking around all the towns we played in. Or camp out in small houses like these for a night and not have it end in blows."

"Just barely," Mick admitted. "Given what we were doing then to stay afloat, I think when we camped out in our first houses and apartments we were too tired to do but so much. Then here's our first time back together in it -and it's one of the last times we're gonna be in here together, if not the last."

Don felt as though the air in the house had turned thick and was trying to choke him off. 

"What are things like up at your other place?" asked Mick. "You know -you still have it, right?"

"Hell yeah, I still have it. That's the easy question. The other -where do I start?" Don threw his hands up. "We can go up and I can show you if you want."

"Sure." Mick had an uncomfortable look about him, and Don concluded he probably did feel the same way standing in the house they'd spent so much time in starting out after so many things had happened. "Any particular way -are we riding, following in cars, or is it safe to go in one car together-?"

"If you want to keep on with each other, you can ride with me up there and have me drive you back; I'm down for it. Or you can drive if you want. Whatever." _Being in the car together could either make this ten times easier or ten times harder._ Don hoped for the former. As long as they didn't start outright arguing and yelling back and forth, which Mick didn't seem any more inclined to than he was, focusing on the road could function as a shield of sorts. Maybe it would help break more ice, being in a car where neither of them had anything but the road and each other to focus on. Which he suspected was going to be more important now that they'd finished giving general fill-ins over what they'd done.

Mick opted to ride passenger, and stopped to pull his overnight bag from his truck just in case before joining Don in his car.

"It's late enough that the worst of the traffic has calmed down and you can actually drive at full speed," remarked Don as they arrived to the highway onramp. "I'm actually a little surprised you didn't want to drive.

"Oh, pfft!" laughed Mick. "I go up and down this highway so often day and night I could drive it blindfolded if it weren't for people who drive their cars stupid. Riding passenger is practically new and exciting!"

Don finished merging into the left travel lanes, away from ones that would disappear any time soon. "Well, be my guest."

"Funny thing is we actually went right up this road from town the night of the fourth. I thought about asking if I could stay at Robbin's for a bit and meet the others in town later. But I wasn't sure if you were ready for that."

"You _think_ so?"

"I wasn't really either. Hell, no." Mick leaned back in the seat and shook his head against the restraint. "You know I'd have asked if I were."

"Of course you would," said Don. "That's you in a nutshell -do you remember the time we were in Norway together after I got done visiting family and-?"

"-And they made us leave the bar because I bought drinks for everyone there and basically tried to get the whole town in a drinking party?" Mick's eyes lit up.

_"Tried?"_ Don laughed, for real this time, taking Mick with him. "More like you _did!"_

"Oh man, it was awesome!" Mick needed the better part of five minutes to settle down, continuing to remember snippets of the scenes playing out in his mind.

"Do you ever miss it?" asked Don.

"Being in band?"

Don made a sidelong glance to Mick, who had gotten serious. "That's going a little more general than I meant, but sure, that works."

"That's a hard question." Mick blew out an exhale. "It's pretty easy to say that I don't. It's tough playing as many back-to-back shows as we did and not having the option to stop and cancel without a shitstorm to follow when someone gets sick or hurt. I don't miss that -if George or I or any of the others have a problem, we can back ourselves out of a show pretty easy and do whatever. You ask me if I miss the uncertainty we were having -fuck, no, I don't. Knowing that shit's gonna go down because the tension's so thick that an axe is no good, but not knowing when, and knowing each time we were getting closer and closer to it falling apart and ending -I'll be happy if I never see that again, no matter what else happens. I don't miss the fighting."

"Yeah, me neither," said Don facetiously.

"I wouldn't think so!"

"I'd have to send you to the psych ward if you did miss any of that, Mick. Hell, I'd send myself. I got enough reasons to consider it without that."

Mick laughed again -nervously this time -and blew out another sigh with a "whoo, boy," before turning serious.

"I do miss a lot of it though," he admitted.

Don kept his eyes on the road as he moved over to give comfortable room to a disabled car in the left shoulder, but raised an eyebrow.

"I miss being on the road. Nice having a break and being able to get off when I need to, but I'd be happier dying on a bus than in a house -and I don't care how nice it is."

"Why am I not surprised?"

"I miss our crew too. Man, those guys were the bomb! We had a lot of good times with each other in the back of the bus. I miss the parties with them too -and that's not saying I don't get that it's good to tone it down a notch, but I still have to go find the club or bar now and then or-"

"Mick, if you ever stopped being a party animal, I'd have to ask 'who the fuck are you and what did you do with Mick Brown?' Right now, and I'd pull over too -I'm not lying-"

This time Mick loudly cracked up, flopping around in his seat and slapping the dashboard.

"I swear if you thought that was any funnier, you'd find a way to set the airbag off from inside here. And _don't you dare_ try to figure it out now."

"Oh, no, Don," Mick groaned. "I'm not picking a fight with an airbag. Those things'll scrape you up so bad."

"What? Mick...!" Don reached up and rubbed the bridge of his nose and the bony space above his eyes. "Alright, don't tell me; I don't want to know how..."

Luckily for him, Mick was already getting back to the conversation at hand.

"I see George a lot still, so I don't really have a reason to miss him. He's around. He's changed a little, but it's nothing big to me yet. Jeff, it's been awhile. Now he's off on his own -he left and got himself clean, and I'm mostly there -I still slip every few weeks. I kind of miss seeing him around. He's almost too serious now. I have to make fun of him for it a little bit when I see him, and that's actually not too often these days -but I guess he's happy and that's what he's gotta do."

"Things would be pretty different if we were happy where we were, let alone where we are now," said Don.

"True."

Mick stayed quiet for a few moments as the car stroked over the surface of a bridge. The tires on the concrete sent an eerie, higher tone of road noise through the car with faint, rhythmic chugging as they crossed steel expansion joints. He didn't speak again until the lower, smoother tone of pavement and solid ground resumed.

"Sometimes I miss just being able to hang out with each other whenever we want."

"Yeah?"

"Riding around town together -sometimes with no place to go and just for fun, or to enjoy the radio. Or writing together. All the trouble we managed to get ourselves in too, going out in the city. And in the hotels and on the road. Especially catching up with each other after a break from tour, when we'd have a chance to see each other to hang out before we had to go in and write or record. You know, I wish we could just get together and shoot the shit just because."

"What, like we're trying to do right now aside from dealing with all of this hard stuff? Even though we know we've still got how long before we can get past that so that it'll be near the same between us?" Don quipped, feeling his throat constrict. "Since we might as well not even pretend it's ever gonna be exactly the same."

"Guess it's kind of a miracle we're here." Mick looked up to the ceiling of the car and held his hands up like he was surrendering to a cop. "Damn, that's enough of that. Don't look at me -I need to go cry hysterically now. Can't promise I'm really joking either."

Only feeling more desperate to change the subject again, Don piped up. "You know, maybe we should talk about something else and come back to that later. There's other things to talk about than the hard stuff -if we could just get to it."

"Sure, hold on a second. Let me think..."

The quiet of road noise -familiar road noise they knew from nights up late on the bus -took over again, somehow taking them back to a better place. Don imagined sitting in the lounge with Mick after George, Jeff, and the crew who rode onboard with them had gone to sleep earlier, or the couple of nights they'd spent in the same bunk.

Mick finally broke the spell of road noise. "Been up to much in your garden you always used to tell me about?"

Don smirked.

"What?"

"Do you even have to ask? It's a good thing I've got two projects I'm working with this summer and I've only had the time to add a few things lately, because if I'd kept adding to it at the pace I was last year, at some point the thing would need its own zip code."

This time, it was Mick's turn to smirk.

"Don, you crack me up. It's hard to tell you've changed!"

"Yeah, Mick, I'd say the same with you."

"One would think, or at least hope this wouldn't be this hard, given that."

Don glanced to his right and spotted the familiar blue sign for the rest area, and it wasn't the one-mile to exit warning, but the exit itself.

In one smooth move with the lanes being opportunely clear, he pulled over, crossing into the exit just a couple of yards before the line turned solid and a jersey wall separated the lane from the others, taking an open, slanted spot after slowing to a stop.

"What's going on?" Mick released his seatbelt. "Don, are you okay?"

"While we're on that, let's just get past this part now, before it drives us both crazy," said Don. "Because I already know I'm gonna end up spilling my guts before this night's over whether I want to or not."

"Alright." Mick nodded uneasily. "It's fair. I'd rather have fun at your place than deal with it there."

"If you want me to be brutally honest about what's been going on since the time we ended it all with Jeff and George, then hell yeah, I'm bitter about a few things."

"I think all of us are," said Mick, matter-of-factly.

"And that's the point. We've both done things to each other. They're done. I hate that what happened had to happen between us, and with Jeff and George too. I hate that. But if I had anything on _you,_ Mick, we wouldn't be wasting our time here after so long."

"Well, Don -I say it's hard to tell you've changed, and that's part of it. Yeah, things have changed, but you still are you and I still love you for that after what happened. Even though you stump me all the damn time -just like you did then!"

Don sighed huffily and leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes and looking defeated.

"So do you want to dwell on it? Because I honestly don't."

Mick groaned. "Oh, no. _Please, no._ We've all fucked up. And maybe we're nuts for doing this, but so what? We're both in the same boat."

"Then we might as well stop dancing around each other," Don finished.

Another moment of silent understanding passed before Mick spoke again.

"So... Does that mean we're hanging out like it's old times from here forward? Because like I said, I miss that."

"Whatever you want that's what you would do if none of this stupid stuff ever happened." Don pulled the car out of park and backed out of the space to get back on the road.

"Good!" Mick gave one of his wild looks he would jump out of his bunk to scare crew members with and playfully threw his arm around Don, wrestling him around, to which he responded by ducking down.

"Alright! But don't roughhouse on me when I'm trying to drive the car!"

Despite his stern warning, Don felt his iron guard slowly backing off.

The sun had set completely, leaving them under the light of a well-timed full moon upon arrival at Don's house. After a stop inside for drinks and for Mick to set down his overnight bag, Don finally led Mick outside to see the garden, which Mick asked about again, already seeing the expanded bushes and ornamental grass around the driveway and porch.

"Some of the stuff around the outer edge and trail might look familiar to you. I still have some cleanup to do out here."

Mick's eyes nearly bugged out. The place was like a forest. It had always been large and had lots of plants, but it was practically unrecognizable from the last time he'd been to Don's house, extending past what he could see from the back stoop. He could recognize a few features, like trellises along the close end of the side perimeter, but the wisteria that had hardly been there two years ago had grown up to the trees above and made that section look entirely different. The smaller trees had grown considerably, and even the larger tree branches had expanded to leave half the garden under a canopy. Half of what had been there the last time he'd seen it -and it went out so much further.

"What the fuck...?" he whispered.

"I was home, so it seemed like a good time to really expand it," said Don with a shrug.

"Well I knew by what you said you'd done something different and made it bigger, but..." Mick trailed off, unable to come up with a fair description. "Shit, you really went to town."

"There's more I want to do with it. One day I'll see about creating a pond -it'll give the floodwater running downhill a place to go during the storms too -but I have to maintain what's here first."

"I think it's great." Recovering from the unexpected, Mick was torn between asking what else was new, or prompting Don to tell about what he'd changed in the garden as he would have just a couple of years ago because he enjoyed how interested Don would be in describing each plant species and what it was evolved to withstand -even though he wouldn't understand half the things said.

He ended up walking the middle ground.

"How much have you been able to get done with all the other things you mentioned doing with this?"

"Well, I'm working on the solo project, and-" Don held up a finger. "Hold on a second. I'm going to run inside and get something I want to show you. I can tell you about what I've been doing with that and show you around if you want too."

Mick waited outside while Don retrieved his notepad with his lyrics in it, and the one important extra sheet tucked inside -even now that he'd copied the words over into the pages itself.

"So," he spoke mischeivously when Don returned outside, "now do I get to be like Dennis the Menace and ask you 'what's this here?' and 'what's this there? -and there, and there, and there?'"

Don blew out a sigh of relief. Mick as he knew him in a nutshell.

"Please."

"Okay, cool. When did you do _this?"_ Mick started his interrogation by pointing out the trail itself, which was no longer bare dirt, but gravel stones with appropriate wooden dividers inserted along the sides in the ground, and the surrounding ferns and irises placed around the trees that had been there.

Discussion of the garden led to mixed-in questions about Don's solo project, which after a break for Don to describe how he'd finally gotten two old oak trees healthy enough to support a hammock he'd put in last year, led to questions about who was working with Don.

"Billy White?"

"From a prog metal group called Watchtower," Don explained. "They're so obscure -I wouldn't expect mainly people to know about them. I didn't, though I think they're alright -Wyn and Peter found him."

"Hey, if he's a good player -I've run into some pretty damn obscure guys lately myself who can pack a punch."

"Billy doesn't take the lead as often as John -mainly because he's not as well known -but he's great at getting around them. He's just really good to have around for creative strength -if I create a general tune, he'll have come up with God knows how many riffs to drive it overnight. And some of what he's come up with, we've just held onto in case we can use it for something else."

"I know about John, Peter, and Mikkey. Is Billy any fun?"

"He's a riot. You'd have fun if you met him." Don's expression shifted as soon as he said it. "That might actually be dangerous -perhaps you'd better not."

Mick grinned innocently. "Oh, are you saying we'd equal chaos?"

"You two would _be_ the definition of chaos together; lord knows..." They were both laughing by the time Don finished telling the story about the balls -and the chaos when Glenn had come up with them, and with the hand truck.

"So that notebook is what you've been writing for it then," said Mick, as they finished their walk around the garden and sat down on the edge of the hammock in the oak trees. Bringing on the last difficult part Don had hoped for an easy in on -one that Mick now delivered.

"Most of it. There's one thing I questioned using that was written awhile ago, but you're here, so I guess if you should have some say in it, you can since we're here." Don handed the notebook over to Mick, and the sheet of paper separately.

Mick's whole demeanor made a hairpin turn as he took them in his hands. His face fell into stun, even as he looked straight ahead at Don so he couldn't see where he had them over his lap. 

"Are these what I think they are?" he whispered. "The ones we never gave off to George and Jeff?"

"I finished them," said Don. "Added another verse with help from a couple of session writers Wyn had when I was still trying to get a band together and get a record deal. There are a few riffs Billy and John have given me I could use, maybe work around if I add in some words so there are enough syllables. I might use it, but they're pretty personal between us -maybe even more now -and I don't know if you want them for something or don't want them used at all."

Finally looking down, Mick cradled the notebook and the old, yellowed sheet of scribbled lyrics, looking down the page at the two distinct scrawls where he and Don had added in different parts. He shifted back toward the middle of the hammock as he did, unconsciously pulling his knees up toward his chest and rubbing the tip of his nose like it was sore -now a nervous habit left behind from countless parties and hits of cocaine in his past.

"Take it." Without a second thought once he looked up from scanning over the lyrics, Mick closed the paper inside and pushed the notebook at Don. "You use them. George would have a fucking conniption fit before using these, and _I'd rather you have them than him_ anyway."

"Are you sure you don't want me to put them away in case something happens and we ever end up working together again?" asked Don, unsure whether that question was coming out of wishful thinking or because it really was possible to happen.

"They were between us -George and Jeff never touched them, and they'll stay more true to that if you take them now and finish them with your guys. _Please."_ Mick made the hands-together gesture to show how serious he was.

Making a quick run to set the notebook safely in the back door, Don returned to the edge of the hammock next to Mick, all too familiar to the past. Enough to evoke a sense of deja vu after discussing the lyrics, and that was eerie when he was used to being able to remember what would have triggered it if he thought enough.

But he couldn't.

"You know, Mick?"

"Yeah, what is it?"

"I can't remember it too well. But there was a time a good while before this came up, and I don't know what was going on -I know I was really out of it. I can't remember why I did. I don't even know when, or where I was. I'm pretty sure it happened though. I just remember that I asked if you would stay with me. Funny I didn't think of that with those lyrics until just now too."

"I remember that." Mick nodded. "Do you remember what I said after that?"

Don shook his head. "I wish I did."

"I'm not surprised you don't remember it all. I can't remember when it was, but you were sick."

"Which was only a thousand times," said Don snidely. "What did you say?"

"I said, 'I might not stay, and I can't promise I always will. But'..."

Mick slapped his hand against Don's back -the way he had with Robbin on the Fourth of July and they way he had with Don back in the 80s -and Don could hear the naughty grin in his voice without looking up to see it.

"...'I'm never going to leave without coming back'."

A shiver wracked Don's body despite how warm it still was outside. Mick turned serious and moved himself around sideways to look him right in the eyes.

"And look where I am right now, Don."

Don swallowed, shivering again, now completely vulnerable to Mick's sight as he repeated to him -in simpler terms -what he'd said the last time he'd seen him.

"Then that needs to still stand now. Because what we did -what we had no other choice but to do at the time -if it's going to be like that and not knowing what the fuck's gonna happen, then this _has_ to be it. Before everything implodes for us again."

Mick reached forward, and the next thing, Don found himself in his arms being hugged tight.

"Right now, you're not sick and I know you're lucid, so I'm saying it now, and I'm dead serious when I say it. When I have to leave after this, it's not a matter of if, but of when you'll be seeing me again -whether we plan or not how soon that'll be. And don't put it past me to track you down if I don't hear from you any sooner than this last time, okay? And you _know_ I will with as much time I'm on the road anyway."

Don slid his arms around Mick and pulled in against him in one swift move, not even hesitating to ease himself in on the full body contact.

"I know you will. I just don't want to ever do that again, Mick," he whispered, finding it too painful to speak. "It was _hell."_

"It was. It really, fucking was."

Mick listed over as he and Don accidentally -or perhaps not -leaned too far in one direction, and soon they were both lying over on the hammock.

"I still have to leave in the morning, but right now I'm here. I'm gonna stay with you tonight," Mick murmured. _"I'll stay."_

It would have taken a thousand more words on top of everything they'd already said for Don and Mick to exchange all the conflicting thoughts and feelings as they held on tighter, sinking lower until they both lay curled around each other in the middle.

Neither found the need to speak one.

......................

 

Back under the cast of the city lights, Glenn found himself walking the end of the beach boardwalk further away from the coast side businesses after some time driving about. 

Finding a place where steps were, albeit less-maintained due to the lack of use and with boards turned grooved with jagged splinters on the side, he climbed down onto the beach below, walking as far as he could without losing sight of an access point to get back up by.

The accessible part of the beach from the boardwalk past the developments alongside it lay mostly dead after dark -especially at a quarter to two in the morning, when most people still out and about had long since retreated to bars to continue the party, or were either staggering home drunk or sprawled in the back of a cab.

There were only the intermittent post lights, and the faint sound of a radio playing slow, soft hits at the end of a long pier extending from the walk not too far from the steps, skipping an echo against the shallow water the low-tide had left beneath the end of it. The water had recessed so far out that it had pulled away from the rocky shore, leaving plenty of sand free of tripping hazard to walk about on beneath the wooden structure, where Glenn now stood.

He walked along, shoes in his left hand, pocket flashlight in his right which he'd carried with him for a feeling of security more than a need to see in the night. Occasionally he stopped, picking up fragments of rocks that had drifted out from the shore and tossing them to the shallow water, watching the ripples run out in circles from the impact and intersect with smaller ones from the splash.

The boardwalk was like a roof over Glenn's head, providing the feeling of being sheltered even as he stood alone in the night. Funny to think of all the people who would still be doing crazy things up on that roof just an hour earlier. Things he couldn't remember doing but knew he had some time long ago.

He did realize he'd done some crazy things up on roofs -actual roofs on houses -himself. Things that were absolutely insane and drug driven. Getting up there and waving a knife around was one thing -one that had happened more than once, and even scared Tommy the first time. Glenn wasn't sure whether to be amused or ashamed that that didn't even touch the worst things he'd done on drugs.

But there was that one time...

Glenn looked out at the reflection in the water as he bent down to retrieve his shoes, having thrown the rocks in his hands.

_Remember the time we danced on the roof, Glenn?_

He smiled as he remembered, no longer feeling quite as perplexed on whatever reason he had felt like walking on the abandoned part of the beach at two in the morning.

"It was a full moon night. The October harvest moon. We were up there having the time of our lives. Just you and I, and no one else in the world." 

_Got a good half hour in before David came outside, found us, and started yelling for us to come down before one of us fell to death!_

"Spoilsport," Glenn groaned, sliding his feet back in his shoes and taking the stairs back up to the walk.

_No, he was just looking out for us, like everyone else. Even though there were times he really did need to loosen up!_

"That's quite alright. You can imagine if Jon or Ian found us -and you wouldn't have known it as well as I, but Blackmore would have been on the ground daring us to just take one misstep over the edge!"

_Glenn! Shame on you!_

Glenn felt his cheeks growing sore, realizing his internal laughter had escaped as a smile.

_There's no sense in spoiling the fun now over something so long ago._

"It think that it's quite the switch," Glenn admitted, still processing everything he'd questioned since first coming down the boardwalk. "It used to be we lived more than half our lives at this hour of the night. It's hard to believe it's still the same this late at night when I almost never am now."

_Doesn't mean you can't get back to the night life and stay clean at some point. Glenn, you've only been onstage twenty times at best since the end of Purple. Please don't tell me you're stopping there._

"No, I'm not done. You've seen what I've been writing, and I can't let that all go to waste. I just question how well I'll be to do it when the time finally comes."

_Just because it hasn't been in years and it's not the same doesn't mean it can't be done. Especially if you want to do it. What happened to when it was you telling me not to worry about what some of those obnoxious hecklers, Glenn?_

Glenn could imagine it. Onstage, with Tommy somewhere above the whole structure like the guardian angel he'd become in his life, cheering him on regardless of how well or not of a night he was having.

"Well, I guess I'll start with just doing it for fun. I guess we're kind of on the roof together now; that's a start."

_You wondered why you came down here in the middle of the night, now you do._

"Too bad we can't dance together on the roof this way now."

_Oh, I bet we can. Just keep going down the walk -I'm coming back from the pier. See me? Red coat, white hat... The green in my hair's kind of faded out, but it'll have to do for right now._

Glenn's mouth hitched up in a weak smile and he looked up where the full moon was shining almost as bright as it did when they had taken each other's hands and gone prancing around on the rooftop.

_See, Glenn? We still have it. We can still dance on the roof._

His footsteps down the boardwalk had taken on a shuffle which looked normal, but thumped on the wood with the light gallop of a waltz pattern. The sea breeze kicked up against him in a way that led him to shiver briefly with pleasure rather than chill. He began to sing softly along with the more familiar tune that now echoed from the pier's radio, and Tommy joined as they made a single word substitution that held all the meaning in the world.

_"And every time I touch you, you just tremble inside. Then I know how much you want me there... you can't hide..."_

Losing his inhibition, Glenn sang out in the night without caring who heard him.

_"...Can I just have one more moondance with you, my love...?"_

Minutes later, coming off the exhilaration of being in a different moment, Glenn stomped out sand as he came off the boardwalk, back on the concrete sidewalk that still radiated warmth through the bottoms of his shoes hours after sunset. He began making his way back to the Jeep, homeward bound as the time caught up to him, calling him to get to bed. He hadn't spoken a word since singing out on his walk, or received one, but Glenn could still sense presence, only to be proven right as soon as he got behind the wheel.

_Just talk with me if you feel yourself nodding off. I'll see you home safe._

"It's the twenty-first of July, Tommy," Glenn forced through a yawn, steadily navigating the mostly-empty streets back to the neighborhood and being even more thankful for moving to another parking space earlier that put both him and the vehicle closer to home. "It's just ten days away."

_All I ask is that you be happy for something this year, Glenn. And that whenever you are ready and able, that you get back to performing. So that we can dance together onstage again too._

Glenn safely pulled into the driveway and made his way in the house, kicking off his shoes at the door and pushing on toward his room, beginning to stagger as the digits on the alarm clock by his bed changed to read 3:00 AM.

"And what if it doesn't happen this year?" He dropped down on the bed, neglecting to take his clothes off.

_Doesn't have to be. Just as long as it happens._

"It will, Tommy. I'm not good at keeping promises, but that one, I will," Glenn murmured as his eyes gave up the fight to stay open and his late night up ended.

............

Don became aware of a warm breeze and crickets chirping, the gentle pressure of the hammock canvas on his hip, and the sensation of a warm body against his own -most notably the shoulder his cheek rested against. His right arm was completely numb from where it was, underneath Mick's back, and his left rested across Mick's chest. 

When they'd fallen asleep, or what exactly had happened after lying down on the hammock were something Don concluded he'd never know for sure, but he could get an idea of how close together they'd been together by their position now. His lips tingled when he inhaled with them slightly parted. At some point, they'd curled up, intertwining their legs.

Heaving a sigh, Don pushed away just enough to free his arm, still keeping contact with his other. He rolled onto his stomach, dragging it and letting it hang limply over the edge, so his fingertips tickled against the tips of the grass blades with the sway of the hammock. Pins and needles joined the sensation, and trying to move his arm further made Don felt as though somebody had attached a deadweight to his side. 

Instead, he pulled his head downward, away from Mick's cheek, and lifted to get a look at Mick, who slept hard and heavy as usual, unaware of his waking. It was a moment before Don could see anything when he opened his eyes, finding his vision hazy and blurred, and moonlight through the trees shocking him from his abrupt exit from darkness.

Faint tracks showed on Mick's temples and the bridge of his nose, reflecting off the pale light.

Still waiting for his right hand to come back to life, Don reached his left hand up, trying to trace the tracks and wipe them off with his less-certain fingertips, hesitating on each motion and questioning his sensation as his veins un-crimped and blood began pounding painfully in the other. The tightness of muscle cramps followed, and Don bit his lip.

He flexed and extended his fingers to encourage the circulation to continue and the cramping to pass, still watching over Mick and guiding his left hand until the pain slowly faded to normal. Pulling himself back up so that he was once again entirely on the hammock, he sleepily rubbed his eyes with his right hand, finding his eyelashes damp and the same dried, salty tracks leading away.

Knowing that ultimately, they couldn't stay much longer -Mick would have to be back on the road, and he'd have to wake up early and get back to the city with Glenn an in time to help Patt -Don folded back down on the hammock against Mick's side. It felt wrong with the uneasy ground they stood on, but it felt right too. It especially felt right when Mick took a deep sigh in his sleep and turned over on his side, unconsciously curling around him again. Mick's muscular arm crossed over his back, holding him in safely.

Nestling his cheek against Mick's chest, Don let himself return to Dream images of some hotel room in 1985 where even with every part of life around him being as screwed up as it could be, nothing in the world felt wrong with Mick there and looking out for him.


	15. Stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just as life has begun to come back to the relationship between Don and his former bandmates, he returns to the studio a few days after his night with Mick and prior to another week off to find that the relationships in XYZ are already facing slow death.

Just as things look to be on the rise for Don, before departing the city for another week at home, he and Glenn stumble upon disaster in the studio.

Though tired out from their late night outings, and for Don, getting up early to drive Mick back to pick up his truck -and even earlier to wake up slowly from their night outside, he and Glenn arrived at the studio in good spirits with Mark ready to have his day assessing his parts. 

For that day, and the next, he focused well, but there was something in the air between him and Tony -making subtle looks at each other -that made Don feel uneasy. Especially with Tony staying quiet and off to the side of the room when Don was working with Mark, and vice-versa. They weren't even talking with Paul, who had finished everything he had to do for the week and was just sitting around in case somebody asked him for an opinion. He was so bored that he'd resorted to everything to stay occupied, and when he got too dizzy and fell out of a chair from spinning in it, Don finally sent him home.

Then, on the last day before departing for home again, Don arrived at the studio with Glenn, greeted the moment they opened the door by uneasy quiet, and the sad, all-too-familiar sight of a whole-band fight aftermath.

Picks everywhere. The little rounded triangles speckled the floor like confetti -practically a whole package's worth of them. Guitar and bass stands knocked down. Torn up sheets of paper with guitar chords scribbled on it. A smashed coffee mug on the floor with brown splatters in every direction from it. One rolling chair wedged under the edge of a desk so that four of its six wheels lifted in the air, sticking up in funny angles. 

Patt's bass lay on the floor in the corner, and Tony's guitar was set across a desk, strings down with one visibly broken. Paul's drums remained half-set-up in the room, the rest still in protective cases.

Terry Ilous sat in the middle of it all, slumped slightly forward in a chair. His face was still heavily tinged with shock, but the look of realization was taking over, and his puppy-eyed features only exaggerated how forlorn he looked.

"Terry?" Glenn walked over to make sure he wasn't hurt.

"I'm fine. But you two may as well go home. I don't think we're going to be having a session today."

"Let me guess," said Don, going for the very thing he'd dreaded since the first week. "Mark?"

Terry nodded. 

"He stormed out to the bus after he finished yelling at Tony and Patt. Paul took Tony home -he's okay, but Paul didn't think he'd be relaxed enough to work through it today."

Don sighed and inwardly thanked Paul. Continuing after that, he knew well enough could have been just the thing to make Tony snap at someone else if anything else went wrong for him.

Glenn took Patt's bass off the floor and set it in a stand that looked appropriate for its size, only after setting the stand back up and checking the bass for any visible damage.

"Is Patt okay?" asked Don, glancing over his shoulder as Glenn walked out in the hallway.

"Patt was not feeling well at all after Mark left. He came down with a headache and went home." Terry stood up and followed Glenn out through the door. He stopped just outside to pull a can of wipes from the hallway storage closet to work on the coffee spill with, and returned inside.

"He didn't get hurt, did he? Everyone's okay?" Glenn reentered behind him, carrying both wet and dry paper towels from the restroom to help Terry clean up.

"I don't think he's _hurt,"_ Terry murmured as he scrubbed at the floor. "He got torn-up paper thrown in his face, and he didn't like that too much. But nobody here hit each other or did anything too terrible. Only Patt got so angry, I've never seen him so upset."

"Guess it didn't go over as easily or as hard as it could have." Don moved the trash can across the room and brought over the dustpan and foxtail to get the broken mug up. "And I have no problem with Patt being upset. You all don't know how much I get why he is."

Crestfallen upon his first look at the front of Tony's guitar, Terry left it on the table and retreated, choosing instead to bend down and help Glenn pick up the picks.

"We all had the sense it was coming. He's the kind who starts to distance himself -I didn't think I was in denial because I knew he was going to leave at some point," he puzzled. "But this -what just happened in here blindsided me. I don't understand it. I feel so bad."

Glenn came up behind Terry with a devastated expression and hugged him.

Terry sighed and weakly reached a hand up to give two short pats on Glenn's arm before he stood up to put the guitar picks he'd gathered back in a plastic box by the wall they'd come in, only to find that it got busted in the chaos too.

"Terry..." Don groaned and pulled the trash bag from the can to place in an old cardboard box so that the building staff wouldn't get cut by any porcelain sticking through the plastic. "There are gonna be a hundred things you can't explain when this stuff happens. Always will no matter how many times you go through it. Just -don't beat up on yourself for it, because even if there was something you could have done different, they could have to. Still doesn't change what it is.

"You all didn't force Mark to leave, you got Tony here when you knew he didn't want to do all the guitar stuff anymore, and if he ended up on tour with you guys not wanting to be there-"

"It'd have been a doomed thing," Terry continued. "We thought about talking to him, but we didn't want to make him feel forced out either."

"Well, then he did you all just about the best favor he could have," sighed Glenn, "doing it by himself."

Don snorted, getting his keys in preparation to leave almost as soon as he'd arrived. "Yeah. If only he could've gone about it a better way than making this mess on top of that!"

Terry cracked a rueful smile at Don's snarking as he found a plastic bag to put the picks in.

"Thanks for helping me clean it up."

"I'll be around the next week that Don's away if you could use more," said Glenn, before turning to follow Don out the door, leaving the studio and the storm that had hit it to settle out.

............

Knowing there would be studio days through his week at home, Don called up John Norum as soon as he was back to the house with Glenn, and upstairs, holding his lyrics notebook and the sheet he'd become more familiar with than he realized he could over the past couple of weeks.

_Now not only are these too real to waste, but I have to use them..._ They were now just another sign to him that there still was a lot between him and Mick that hadn't changed and would continue to be there.

"Which riff did you say you were thinking of using them with?" asked John, after Don let him know that he had lyrics to use with them.

"One of the ones he gave us the week before the Fourth of July. I can show you when you all get here. I think they'd work for a power ballad style or maybe even some point between that and something that's straightforward."

"Do you want us to work out some harmonies from that riff for you to create a tune from, or are you going to sing it with us while we work in it? I don't have any preference on what we do this week aside from what we're recording with Wyn, so unless someone is pressing for anything else, or -you know, I'm good with anything."

Don closed up the notebook and stacked it on the tape recorder, now unplugged and ready to be loaded in his car to go home.

"I'll be open to making some adjustments if you want to recommend any, but John, I gotta be honest with you. This one's personal. If you get what I'm saying."

"Got it," John murmured, immediately going quiet. "How about you record a vocal demo track before we see you, as you feel it should be? And I'll get with Billy and Peter and try to work around that -unless anything is really out of place, we probably won't need to make so many suggestions then."

"Okay."

"If you want, you can give the demo track to us, and we can work on that at my place after we get done for the day tomorrow."

"Please."

Don could hear John scribbling notes with a pen, making plans, and he sighed gratefully. If there was one song he wanted to be done as quickly and as easy as possible, "Stay" was it, and for once he hadn't had to ask.

John was the first to meet him at the studio three days later, carrying his own track recorder awkwardly on his hip, secured by his elbow while he carried amps and cables in both hands and his guitar over his shoulder. He and Don had both arrived far ahead of the start time.

"Billy and Mikkey and I went to Peter's apartment last night to work out a crude track with our parts. You can ask Wyn to play it back for you over your demo with the acoustic line you did -I'm thinking we might want to keep that if you're alright with it. Just -see if you like it and what we can change if you don't, and ask Wyn what he might want for effects. Just in case he says something we didn't think of that might work."

"Fine by me."

While John went to go set up his equipment in a recording booth with Wyn, Don had the main mixing room to himself to assess the demo without any distractions. The only living thing in the room with him was his snake plant in the corner.

After four playbacks to focus closely on each line, and a near equal amount of time to think, Don came to his conclusion.

The guitar parts were solid, yet subdued. Strong enough to perk the song up from sounding too self-piteous, but not overpowering the nature of the subject. They were their own distinct style from whatever George would have created had they ever worked it out before the end -but characteristic enough to the Dokken sound where the combined tracks could have fit anywhere on the _Under Lock and Key_ catalogue -appropriate for when Don had written it with Mick. The bass and drums fit in and backed it up well too -Peter had once again come up with a thumping bass line that still worked with the slower tracks.

All Don could see adding now was an echo effect on his acoustic line, or a keyboard to complement it.

Where vocal harmonies had added over the chorus, creating an echo on "stay," he could faintly hear Mick whispering to him: _I'll stay._

"Well?" asked John, coming to check on him when he came around the hallway to the booths. Wyn was making phone calls, warning that the other producers would be in at any moment, as would Billy, Peter, and Mikkey.

"It's perfect," said Don, wishing he had a more technical way to describe it as he usually would.

"I'll ask Wyn about adding some effects, but otherwise, if we get done recording what we had planned to before the end of our time here this week, we can go ahead and record this one as is."

Somewhere inside him, some vice grip of anxiety was slowly releasing itself.


	16. There By Myself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As another month slips away and Don returns to the city again, he finds a vulnerable Glenn in more need of comfort and support than ever before.

_This is it,_ Don thought to himself as he navigated his way off the main road and into the neighborhood after the trip home and a stop along the way at the grocery store. _Hottest month of the year starting today. Summer heat's past the fun point. It's just dragging itself out now._

Another week at home and at work on his project had slipped away, just as another summer month had.

It was unbearably hot outside. Even with the air conditioning in the car cranked as high as it would go, Don's clothes were sticking to him by the time he got parked in the driveway. Enough for him to open his duffle bag and change shirts before even leaving the car.

The Jeep was in the driveway ahead of him, there were no lights on in the windows, and it was still mid-morning, so Don expected that Glenn was probably sleeping in, unless he'd decided to go out by foot -which he was doing more and more often.

Opening the door, there was a quiet buzz in the atmosphere hitting like a ton of bricks. The kind that told Don that he wasn't alone before putting one foot over the threshold. But he also had an overwhelming feeling in his gut that something was wrong.

Don dropped his bag just inside the doorway, turning to look straight into the living room. It was empty. Walking through, he saw that the kitchen was too, and it appeared nobody was in the dining room from the kitchen doorway.

Heaving a deep breath, Don set the grocery bags down on the counter and turned back around toward the living room.

"Glenn?" he called.

No response.

"Glenn, where _are_ you?"

Don went back out in front hall by the stairs. He was debating going to check upstairs first, but walking around to the front of the step in the awkward layout of the front hallway put him in line to glance down the side hallway toward Glenn's room.

That was when and where he found Glenn. Sprawled out on the hall floor, halfway between his room door and the stairs. Three feet down from him was a spilled bottle of wine, and based on the amount spilled on the floor and kept contained by the bottleneck, about three quarters of it were consumed.

He stepped back and drew in a deep breath to calm himself before trying to deal with what he'd come home to. 

Back in the mid-80s, Don might have scolded Glenn just as he was would any of his bandmates for going so far as to black out. He might have gotten angry and picked up the bottle and smashed it to show that he was angry. He might have been hard pressed not to strike Glenn to drive his point home, and on a night bad enough, he'd readily give in.

Except now, Don didn't feel as though he could do any of those things. As his anxiety had taken over in the late 80s -particularly around the time of the breakup, he'd found himself taking it past his limit and blacking out, and not being able to bring himself to care that he was doing it because of the anxiety pills. Less than a year ago he was going through the process of trying to control an addiction of his own after finding himself on the floor of The Rainbow -having taken an embarrassing tumble he couldn't blame on clumsy footing alone. A few nights out and about with John, Billy, and the others had told him he was still prone to it -probably would be doing it currently if not for being occupied with the project.

So he couldn't find it in himself to get upset with Glenn either. Rather, Don felt a sense of overwhelming sadness and disappointment for him. All through July, he'd been doing so well, save for the one incident with the washing machine when he still couldn't verify how much Glenn had actually snorted any of whatever cocaine he'd gotten. He'd not only been doing well; he'd been doing better than the first time around. And while he had problems with drinking too, it was near unexpected compared to the cocaine.

And there was something so vulnerable in the way Glenn sprawled on the floor -mostly on his side and legs out at odd angles, but with his hips turned to rest his head face down on an outstretched arm, the other curled tightly around his middle.

He hadn't been drinking for kicks and getting drunk. Something troublesome had driven him to do it.

Something was very, very wrong.

Firmly, Don put his hand on Glenn's shoulder and shook him, only to find that he was already in the process of coming back to consciousness on his own. He looked up listlessly with a blank, distant stare, trying unsuccessfully to lift his head.

"Donny, where's'eh bedroom; can't find't..." Glenn's eyes drooped shut as he slurred his words out, clawing listlessly at the floor in front of him with one hand, trying to crawl when three fourths of his body just weren't committed to moving.

"Glenn," warned Don, "I get that this can't be easy breaking free of, and I can't get on you entirely for drinking when I do to, but you can't go getting blackout drunk in here and locking down to cope without having the coke."

"Didn't mean for't t'be like this," Glenn moaned. "It wasn't s'possed to." His words were a little less strung out this time; perhaps some of the slurring was from not being entirely conscious yet.

"That's fine, it doesn't have to stay like this." Don helped Glenn sit up against the wall and handed him the cold glass of water, still keeping a hand under it in case he lost his grip. "Have some of this first."

Already having cotton mouth, Glenn took big swigs, nearly choking against the shock of cold.

"Easy."

Unable to stand any more and stopping just short of finishing the glass, Glenn pushed it away with his hand until Don took it away.

"Alright then. Let's get you out of the middle of the hall and back in your room."

Glenn whimpered something indistinguishable as Don struggled to hoist him up over his shoulder. It wasn't a comfortable maneuver for either of them. Don felt his back protesting by the time he ducked out from under Glenn next to the bed.

"Lie down and sleep it off. You don't need to be stumbling around in here getting hurt."

Glenn flopped down, barely landing on the pillow. He jarred his head and moaned as it kicked off the beginnings of the inevitable headache.

"Careful." Don pulled the blinds down, but Glenn whimpered and kept his eyes tightly squeezed shut after the beam of sunlight no longer cut across him.

By the time Don got back around to his side, Glenn was in tears. Droplets pulled their way down from the corners of his squinted-shut eyes across his temples, and he swallowed and shuddered as they disappeared in his hairline.

Watching, Don remembered from experience that the sickly, wet and crawling sensation was always the worst part of the nights he just couldn't block out what he'd heard George saying outside his bunk, even when it shouldn't have mattered. Lying in there helpless, hiding every sign that it had gotten to him while drowning in it until sleep took him.

"Here, let's see if we can't..." Don looked under the nightstand, found the tissue box, and being unsure where Glenn's emotions were about to be taken by the tide of drunkenness, opted to set the whole thing next to him on the bed. He pulled one and swiped the sides of Glenn's face.

"Please don't leave me," Glenn whispered, a light tremor going through his shoulders and finding its way into his voice. He looked sick in an entirely different way from how sick he'd looked during his cocaine detoxes -breaking out in a sweat and flushed pink with heat in the cheeks, rather than chilled and pale.

The words were all but a cold steel knife in Don's gut. He sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed, trying to think out the best way to ease Glenn's torment before it tormented him too. He was unsure how present Glenn was, and how much of what he was saying was truly aimed at him, but he responded as best as he could.

"I'm right here."

He pulled the extra blanket from on top of the light bedspread and sheets off and folded it up, tucking it under the pillow to cool Glenn down, and elevate him to a safer position in case he became ill.

As Don pushed the blanket under the pillow, causing Glenn's neck to flex back for a moment, Glenn drew a sharp inhale through clinched teeth. His face contorted in anguish and he now convulsed with sobbing all the way through.

"Here." Don pushed the pillow up to better support Glenn's neck in his new position, and pulled another pillow that had been kicked to the floor to tuck under his shoulders. Now Glenn was fully supported in his reclined position. However, that hardly scratched the surface, and Don didn't need to be good with hard feelings -and he certainly wasn't -to know that whatever this was about, it had Glenn beyond the help of comfort.

"Glenn, there's no use in me getting angry when it's already happened. I'm not going to yell or jump all over you now-"

As if on cue, he thrust his hand blindly at Don's, gripping for a source of grounding. Taken aback, Don stood awkwardly, watching without making a sound, allowing Glenn to squeeze his hand as he wailed, his features shifting from the sheer pain of forcing himself together to pure torment. He held out his cry, soft and high-pitched, until he pulled a staggering gasp and wailed again and squeezed Don's hand harder -so tight that it hurt.

Unable to willingly take that much, Don flinched and pried free, mouthing all kinds of pained and awestruck gibberish as he shook out and flexed his hand. But his nearly-crushed fingers quickly slipped to the back of his mind.

Glenn panicked as he lost his clutch on comfort. He balled up the bedspread in his hand and gripped it, growing louder and breaking out with gasps and coughs. Spasms went through his body as he tried to thrash about, too uncoordinated to move anything.

Don settled his still-sore hand back down on top of Glenn's fist, safe from his squeeze.

"I'm not going anywhere," he reassured, trying again with the tissue in his free hand to mop up the mess of sweat and tears around Glenn's forehead and the sides of his face. Trying to keep the reality of undignified, drunk crying from being any worse for Glenn than it had to be.

He didn't mention that half the reason he wasn't going anywhere was that Glenn's sudden outburst had him terrified. It was the same reason he wanted to go anywhere outside the bedroom, but for Glenn's safety, he stayed put as Glenn began sobbing out.

"I'm so _b-bloody angry."_

"I suppose you could feel that way." Don lay his other hand on Glenn's shoulder -to restrain him as much as to comfort him. Even with the aggression he had seen, Don counted himself lucky he'd only seen what he had with Glenn, and knowing it was still possible with as upset as he was now.

Glenn squeezed the bedspread even tighter as his words came out distorted in hiccups.

"I thought it was so r-rude that n-none of them w-would come!"

"What?"

"H-he d-deserved better'n that f-from them; he w-was a good p-person! They sh-should'-ve b-been there for -'im a-an' they weren't!"

_Ohhhh. Shit..._ It was the first day of August, which meant it was... The reasons couldn't have clicked together any faster when Don realized.

"Oh, Glenn..."

The world didn't make any rational sense when it should have to hold so many complex things in it. People would be there at any time glad to pester anyone who wanted to be left alone or offering their advice and opinions to one who already had their way to get on. It was whenever the strong person who could usually get on alone did want help or needed -even wanted -to be openly vulnerable, that everyone else would disappear and go silent. Nobody could be depended on to be there when one truly needed someone, if for nothing but to just listen and understand. Don knew it from experience -practically all his life, and Glenn knew it from what he'd dealt with alone. From what he had already seen with Dokken, Don already knew it wasn't going to change for him -Mick being the possible exception -unless some miracle struck.

And if there was either of them in need of a miracle and a half before self-destructing, Don could find no reason why he would reach his end before Glenn at this rate. Don had his demons that haunted him. He knew he could just as easily have a life threatening cardiac episode as Glenn had, and there were so many dangers in the world he couldn't think of. But he wasn't yet having to relive the tragic loss of a friend and lover twice a year when he should have been celebrating his birthday now. Nor had he gone through the aftermath of a tragic loss with nobody to be there the one time he'd needed it more than ever.

"And I was _by myself!"_ Glenn wailed.

Don stroked the damp tissue across Glenn's face again and winced. What should he say? Or should he just keep his mouth shut? "Sorry" seemed pointless. Sorry wasn't going to help Glenn now, nor would it have made someone else be there at that funeral. It wasn't Don's fault none of them had been there either. 'I know?' No, he _didn't!_ Maybe if he'd experienced something similar that would work, but it certainly didn't this time. 'It'll be okay?' Better, but honest enough. Heck, he couldn't promise that for sure to himself, let alone to Glenn.

It wasn't hard for Don to immediately know that Glenn was far less comfortable with being alone than he was. But Glenn wasn't the type to feel at ease being vulnerable either, only admitting he was struggling when it had taken him down -during the withdrawals and when he slipped. The fear in his tensed body, taking hold of the air in the room, was choking.

For his fear now to be so irrational and not fully justified to Glenn by loving Tommy, Don concluded the true issue was how scary it had been for Glenn at that time. He'd been scared when he was already hurting, and he'd had to be there alone with nobody to keep him grounded to anything else.

And it hurt when all he heard from his former bandmates was what he had done wrong to them because of his problems, when he had yet to publicly malign them for the one thing they'd done wrong to him. Making him grieve alone with his fear.

Now he was reliving it for the first time without being alone.

"It's okay," Don muttered, just above a whisper in case it wasn't what to say.

Gradually, Glenn's hiccuping began to slow. He lay still now, and his wails had gone down to soft moaning.

"It's okay, Glenn."

"I'm so angry they made me be there by myself..." 

His voice ended on a descending pattern as he slurred out holding the last syllable, unable to force any more. He'd run himself down with the rush of pain and fear.

"Well, right now you're not by yourself. I'm here." Don heard Robbin's own comforting words in his mind, and the words he loved to hear from Mick. "I'll stay here. I've got you. It's okay." He'd already been to the store on the way home to pick up what they needed, and there was no reason to leave the house or do anything that meant not being there for Glenn the rest of the night.

Minutes passed before Glenn's residual tears ran out. He lay still and quiet, body wracked by the devastating episode. His breathing had gone slow with sleep, save for the gentle catch of a few hiccups that hadn't finished.

Don gave his cheeks a final swipe dry and discarded the tissue in the bathroom. He set the trash can up with an empty liner by the bed and another to guard the floor in case Glenn couldn't make it down the hall in time. There was no 'if' whatsoever that he'd be sick waking up.

"Nap it off, Glenn," said Don, pulling the quilt off to the side where it was still in reach of he wanted it later. He replaced it with a light blanket over the sheets.

Glenn let off an exhausted sigh in his sleep as Don made his way out the door to begin cleaning and restoring order to the rest of the house.

Walking into the kitchen to put the groceries away, the door of the fridge caught his eye and he felt his heart sinking lower.

Taped to the fridge was a sheet of paper where Glenn had written numbers for every day since the first day of July, when he'd gotten the coke. All the way up to thirty-one, and a drunken, scraggly zig-zag of marker ran all over it, leaving a lopsided zero at the bottom.

For better or worse, when Don finished putting perishable everything away, he went up to the office for a clean, smooth piece of paper and wrote all the digits to thirty-one again, adding a thirty-two after it.

He heard the tell-tale retching a couple hours later when Glenn woke up, and went back into the bedroom to him sitting up and clinging to the trash can.

Following the third seizing of Glenn's stomach, he was shuddering and dry-heaving with nothing left to give. Don came in with water, ibuprofen, and anti-acid medicine to help take the edge off Glenn's nausea and discomfort.

"Trash can blues," muttered Don.

"No fun at all," Glenn coughed out, trying to laugh at the flashback he had to when Don came home on that hellish fourth day, but he started tearing up again instead.

Don patted Glenn's shoulder blades. "I know." This time, he could truthfully say it as much as he wished he couldn't.

After a few minutes of dry coughing, Glenn lifted up from the trash can.

"Done throwing up?"

Glenn looked at Don with an ashen face adorned with red-rimmed eyes and the shimmer of cold sweat. Pitiful.

"I _think_ so. At least for now."

"Well, I _hope_ so." Don passed him the glass or water, then the medicine.

"I hope so too, Don."

"I'm not upset with you for this incident, Glenn. This is something else that I want you to forgive yourself for and move on from. Right now. Unless you want to bring it up later, we'll never talk about this again."

Glenn nodded. He wasn't gagging after the water and seemed to be holding it down. The worst was over.

"Anything else you need?"

Glenn looked down to his sheets with a crestfallen look, not having completely cleared the edge. The splash was minimal and out of the way from the surface, but unpleasant thoughts of it being there were another animal.

"It's fine; you were up for new sheets tonight anyway." Don got a towel from the hall closet and came back wearing rubber gloves. "This'll be good for now. I'll just get the trash and we'll wait until you're ready to get up to change that."

Glenn tucked the towel where he needed it to feel secure enough and pulled the blankets back over himself, no longer feeling the heat of drunkenness. Don changed the trash can liner and hauled the soiled one out. With that, most of the evidence of the painful episode aside from Glenn himself were removed from the room.

"Sometimes you think you want to handle it alone or that you have to, and the pain is too scary to know what to do when you finally are," Glenn whispered, settling back down under the covers and curling up on his side, eyelids resting heavy as the headache and fatigue of his hangover began pulling him back under.

"Ain't that the truth," Don sighed, resting his hand on Glenn's shoulder and leaning on the bedside. "It's why you're here now."

"Thanks, Donny."

"Thank you too, Glenn."


	17. Tommy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Glenn recovers as the evening goes on, and Don searches for a way to help Glenn turn the evening around into something better ...for Tommy, as he would have wanted it to be.

It was four hours before Don saw Glenn again. Three more hours of sleeping it off, and another hour to slowly wake up and sit alone. He had to process his pain without the warp of drunkenness, and everything that had happened when he had been in it.

Don ended up sleeping it off too, for the first two of those hours. Between the long drive home, the rush of emotions, and cleaning up everything, whatever energy he'd had waking up that morning had fallen right out of him.

Glenn finally emerged from the bedroom to meet Don in the kitchen around 7:30 after stripping the tainted sheets off his bed. He was visibly tired, subdued, but composed.

"Still hurting?" asked Don.

Glenn nodded. "Hangover part's almost gone, at least."

"Last bit's probably gonna hang on until tomorrow," Don admitted, "and then there's some that's never going away no matter what anyone does."

Glenn nodded again, too tired to reply.

"You feel up to eating something?" asked Don. "I got food on that should be ready here in a minute. It's just chicken and rice -it shouldn't be too hard on your stomach, but if you need me to put a plate in the fridge you can reheat later when you feel better, I can."

"No, I'll try. I'm not really hungry, but I'm not sick anymore. I'll eat."

Glenn moved a few steps to lean against the counter, not seeming inclined to leave the kitchen, and Don concluded he probably wasn't inclined to go anywhere out of eyeshot.

"Happy birthday to the two of you, by the way," he offered.

Glenn met eyes with Don for two solid seconds with such a wild look before he sprang forward and hugged him so tight that he flinched before reaching around Glenn too.

"Thank you."

"It's your birthday together; you don't need to thank me for it."

"I'm amazed whenever someone just accepts it instead of telling me I should give it up; that it's not our birthday anymore because he passed away. They don't care or believe me that sometimes I know he's still here in a sense I can't really describe-" Glenn's voice cracked and his eyes welled up again. "-And I couldn't leave him hanging like the others, I love him so much. I couldn't answer for that if I did."

"It's however you want to see it; it's not anyone else's place to judge that. They can't tell you to think of it any differently when you have the ultimate say over what you think and feel." Don turned around then as a timer went off. "Time to eat."

Glenn pulled a paper towel from the roll above the sink and wiped his eyes as he made his way to the kitchen table.

"You can sit here or go to the couch if that's more comfortable," Don cut in. "Just move the table up to it so it'll be neater."

With eye contact as silent acknowledgement, Glenn took his plate and headed for the living room couch, pulling the coffee table in so that it was against his knees.

He sat on the middle cushion, leaning heavily to his left side against his oversized pillow, looking so pathetically lonesome that Don found himself picking up his own plate and taking the open spot to the right of him.

Glenn sighed contentedly, leaned forward, and took a bite. Then another. And another.

"Dinner's good," he finally mumbled through a mouthful.

Don silently responded by allowing Glenn to move in closer when he did without backing off, and instead putting his left arm around him as they finished eating in quiet.

Over an hour later, Don had started the laundry, put fresh sheets on both Glenn's end and his own, and was finishing up moving the jade plant to a larger pot. It was beginning to put up the starts of new pieces, and would need more root space and better drainage than that of the plastic one it came in.

There was even a new stem growing from the injured branch -extending from the open space just past the scarred-over break, which had finally formed a solid knot in the wood.

As Don began the process of gathering the newspaper he'd spread to protect the table from dirt spills, Glenn came in with his thin robe tossed on over shorts and his hair still damp on the ends. Tucked under his robe to protect it from the remaining water was his knit scarf, hanging below the hems of his shorts to touch his knees.

He still had a visible sadness to him, but between the lifting of his hangover, having substantial food in his stomach again, and taking a refreshing shower, he was noticeably in better spirits, going over to examine the re-potted jade and examining it with a weak hitch on one side of his mouth that was trying so hard to be a smile, even if it couldn't quite make it.

Now the task at hand was to help him keep feeling better and to not fall back out of the better spirits by the end of the night.

_What can we do to get this right? As possible as it is to do..._ Don thought as he took the newspaper outside and shook the dirt collected in it out over the flower bed.

He was uncertain at best what would be most helpful for Glenn, and knew this was far from his strong suit of things he knew how to fix. But of the descriptions Glenn had given him of Tommy and their relationship, he knew that Tommy enjoyed having a good time, and liked even the simplest reasons to hang out and do just that -whether with a party or just a quiet night with people he loved and cared about.

If Glenn should have been celebrating Tommy's birthday in an ideal world and having the good time that he wanted nothing more than, then rather than sitting around being sad he wasn't there, they were going to celebrate Tommy. For him, and for Glenn.

He returned inside to find Glenn camped out in quiet on the couch, lying sideways on his pillow. Heading to the kitchen to throw the newspaper away, Don checked out the note he'd made for the week. Terry and Patt wanted a late start in the studio tomorrow -only in the afternoon. Perfect.

"Tell me about Tommy." Don sat down next to Glenn on the couch. "And not just a general description of him like before. Tell me something different from what most who know about him would know. Something that made him special, or that you two experienced together that was special. And that would be something you would want to remember and talk about."

Glenn gave another pitiful attempt at a smile. "Don, if I told you all the stories about Tommy that were special, if I _could_ tell every one of them -and there are some which I can't -you and I could sit here together all night and never be finished."

"Doesn't have to be all of them or something more complicated; just enough to say something." Don snapped his fingers. "That's it; tell me a story about Tommy that's funny -something he would have looked back at and laughed over. What's one of the funniest or craziest things you can remember doing together? And if that's still too many to choose from, then how about something crazy backstage?"

One didn't even have to be in a band to know that some of the craziest things happened backstage, and more often than not, they could get downright funny.

Glenn stared zoned out into space through sad, tired eyes, but his eyelids seemed to lighten and his stare was brighter than it was listless. He curled an index finger around his chin and played with the edge of his throw blanket with his other hand, murmuring to himself in thought.

"Can't do that one, because that was on the bus, and then that was in the hotel..."

"You can tell me about the one on the bus if you would like it better. That sounds interesting too."

"I know there was something-"

Glenn flinched, his eyes lit up, and he pushed himself to a sitting position against the pillows. A smile sprang to his lips -a real, truly happy-looking one which Don had only seen on him at Robbin's, and when he'd come up to his house.

"Oh, yes, I've got a _good_ one!" He pointed his index finger to the ceiling, then shook his head with the start of a chuckle. "I almost forgot about that one -ha! How the hell could I?" 

"It's more possible than you'd think. Tell me," Don repeated.

"Well, it was for this show after this flight in when -we were far too jet-lagged and I was a wee bit tipsy after the flight -and we'd reached that point at which we could not stay serious. _Everything_ was funny to us by that time we were getting ready, and we..."

Don smirked and leaned forward to listen better as Glenn's voice began to distort and break up with laughing.

"...and there we are chasing each other around the showers in the dressing room -and poor David, we came around the corner so fast -he didn't even know what happened! -and then Tommy couldn't find..."

"Ohh, no..." Don groaned and cracked up as all-too familiar chaos -the funny kind -began unfolding as Glenn described the antics that only came from pre-show jitters and lack of sleep.

"...so we're still going at this point, but holding onto each other and leaning in too far together that we kept nearly knocking each other over falling down every few feet trying to walk! And there was no point to it by then -we were fine, but we kept doing it because it was too funny -everyone trying to figure out what the heck it was we were doing! And when we ran through the showers, David had put Ian's glasses in the other room so we wouldn't knock them down, only he didn't tell him, so he couldn't find them -and so we went on offering to help him find them as we kept up trying to help each other stay up...!"

Five hours later, the clock read two in the morning, Don and Glenn were still up on the couch, both with cramped sides, aching stomachs, and red-rimmed eyes. Or really, Don was on the couch, and Glenn was sprawled out on the floor with his back leaned against the side of the couch, having fallen off without bothering to get back up. 

The backstage story had been enough for both of them to wind up in pain by the end of it. The bus story involving climbing through bunk beds and scaring one of their girlfriends by accident put both Don and Glenn in tears from laughing so hard, which turned into a short bout of real crying for Glenn when the nostalgia became overwhelming when he was already so emotional from the day. 

After he'd recovered from that, he went into all his other funny stories that weren't too personal to share. They'd both long since decided the position of the hands on the clock could be damned for all they cared. Neither had to be in the studio -they could sleep in as long as they wanted after staying up as long as they could keep their eyes open. Or physically take it, for that matter.

Don clutched his sides and wheezed. "Oh my stomach!"

"Oh my God!" Glenn cried, heaving a deep breath, wiping his eyes, and pointing his folded hands to the ceiling, though with sitting around the living room telling the stories and laughing with Don, it was a setting that could have been any night at home with Tommy, and he could practically see him sitting on the other couch on the other side of the table if he thought and imagined just hard enough, blushed in the cheeks at the thought of what they'd gotten up to, and giggling heartily along with them.

"Lord help me... Tommy, ya just about killed me with that one!"

_I did it for a good time. I only did it with you to make you laugh... Don't tell me it didn't work!_

"Yeah, I can see why -hearing about it from you is nearly killing me!" Don stood up as soon as his legs were no longer weak from hysterics to stretch out and take the pressure off his aching ribs and stomach for a moment. "Whew!" 

They endured a few more stories, concluding when Glenn declared himself knackered after telling of an incident when he'd driven down the beach with Tommy, and sand had gotten in the door jamb of the car and disrupted the latch, causing the car door to unexpectedly come flying open on the highway later -luckily with no harm to either or the car done, but all the while giving them a wild thrill.

"Alright, if you're done for tonight, that's cool." Don sighed and sat up. "I bet we're gonna feel this in the morning -or whenever the heck we wake up tomorrow."

Glenn cracked up again, laughing and teary-eyed. "Oh, Tommy and I sure felt it a few times after some of those!"

"You need to get some more sleep so you'll have a chance of being better tomorrow." Don put the pillows he'd knocked off the couch back in place and helped Glenn hoist himself up from the floor, shaky from exhaustion and laughter.

"So, what are we doing for the next few days while you're here?" asked Glenn, picking up his pillow and wiping his eyes on the end of his scarf.

"Well..." Don looked up in thought, and then seeing Glenn sway dangerously on his feet when he turned his head too fast, he started walking down the hall to encourage him to follow down to his room.

As he did, the events of the day between the evening and the rough morning it had been came back to him, and the elusive lightbulb lit up.

"We didn't really have your typical birthday provisions for a party here, but while you were asleep earlier, Robbin called. He and I were talking it up just because," said Don. "But, his birthday is on August fourth -just a couple of days -I'll still be here for that. He's still got the same thing going on with everyone out on the road and could probably use some people to hang out with."

Glenn settled in his bed, but kept his heavy eyes open with interest as he heard Don out.

"We'll call him up again tomorrow when we're up. Maybe we can see about getting together and having a party for him. I'm sure he'd be happy to celebrate for you and Tommy too."


	18. Balanced Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanging between dreamscape and reality in the middle of the night, Glenn finds himself with a visitor.

Coming to a state of awareness some time after plunging into the dark of night, Glenn found himself aware of being on a rooftop -a short, flat space where the first floor of the house extended further than the second floor, overlooked by a second floor window.

It wasn't a rooftop he'd been on before, but he'd seen it from the office window and knew it was above his room in the house he'd spent the last couple of months in.

Tapping his fingertips together provided a sensation too faint for conscious reality, but the warm night air felt real, and the waning moon in the sky looked real too. The street below was too quiet, and the street lights had strange halos around them that glowed too strongly.

"Glenn..."

Just the faintest sensation came down on his shoulders from behind as he looked out across the dead-end street from the new, intriguing perspective. Tree tops obscured roofs and views of driveways and the cars parked in them, and with the green leaves growing out far over the asphalt of the road, it looked less like a residential street than it did a narrow path through a park.

At first Glenn shivered, feeling like a strong gust of wind had hit him from behind, but the sensation grew more distinct and heavy, so he shrugged it off and turned around to find himself face to face with the figure behind him.

Slender and tall frame, red jacket, white pants and white peaked hat that colored locks came down from in uneven waves to frame a sweet doe-like face with the faintest hint of mischief in his eyes. Nearly fifteen years hadn't changed them a bit.

Without thinking or caring if he passed through thin air and only wound up devastated, Glenn lunged forward. He threw his arms out around him and found himself stopped, resisted from moving any further forward. The figure in front of him was solid. 

When he realized the figure in front of him was not just solid, but felt warm, living, and real, he squeezed hard and desperate, not letting go minutes later as he felt arms holding him and fingers stroking his back. Not letting go as he felt his knees give way and the two easing their way down to sit on the tarred surface of the flat roof that still radiated heat from the sunlight that had stopped hours earlier.

"You're really here all the way this time," Glenn whispered from where he'd buried his cheek against the bony shoulder that was still soft enough for him.

"Yes and no," said Tommy. "I'm here, but we can't go back through the window together. In the morning, and when you wake up, I'll still be here, but you won't be able to see me. Like before."

Turning in to further bury himself, Glenn squeezed tighter, until he flinched and let go with the fear of strangling Tommy with his overzealousness.

"No, don't worry. You can't hurt me." Tommy's soft, loving smile was audible in his voice as his hands softly pulled Glenn back in. "Besides that, I've missed this."

"Hell, you think we both have?" Glenn jokingly forced a laugh through the tightness in his throat as he lifted his head enough to get a look at him.

"What, spending nights together, or being close together?"

"I wouldn't know where to start." Glenn reached his hand up into the ends of Tommy's hair and combed his fingers through the soft twists.

He still had his multi-colored hair as it had been -the bluish-green, purple, red, and yellow sections, but upon movement, Glenn could see before the bottom edge of the hat that the dark brown roots had lighter streaks through them.

"Redid the colors and added highlights?"

"Sure did."

"I've seen you bleach it to add color, but never just highlights -why now?" asked Glenn.

"Your pupils aren't dilated anymore. You can go in bright light without cringing anymore. And I thought we could use a little extra light nowadays," Tommy mused.

Having long-since cried himself dry for the night and being in a happy enough place between the stories and seeing Tommy before him, Glenn couldn't produce any more tears, but his face crumpled pitifully as he lunged back in for another death-grip driven hug.

"I wouldn't know where to start on why we could use some light," Tommy continued, holding Glenn in, "but I could choose seeing you in so much pain today. And wanting you to forgive yourself and everyone else."

"I wish they'd have been there for you, and that we could all be celebrating right now; I really do," Glenn insisted, "even though I am so, very angry with them for-"

"They have different ways of dealing with it. Grief, you know. I wish they'd been there. Can't make them be there now. And it doesn't mean they didn't care or don't wish I'm still around. In fact, I get the sense a lot of their grudging on you is how they show it, as much as I wish they wouldn't go and do that. I guess it's because of some guilt too. I know from watching over that Jon feels some guilt, thinks that had it not gone where it did with the band and the drugs we brought in that I'd still be there. And I hope you can work that out with Jon as you keep getting better so that -because there's no reason to see it that way. We had some fun times with him too that you didn't even get to telling tonight -it'd be a shame for all those stories to end like this.

"We had a lot of fun times together," repeated Glenn. He made a sound between a laugh and a sob as Tommy's long fingers combed through his hair. "I can still remember those too."

"It's good, seeing you up close now," Tommy murmured, looking Glenn deep in the eyes -eyes that were clear with irises distinguishable from the pupils. "I could before, but I didn't like doing it but so close when you couldn't see me. I thought that'd be unfair of me. You already look so much better. You're not feeling so weak. And I can see your eyes again."

"I feel like you're there all the time, but I still miss you so _much."_ Glenn inhaled deeply and motioned to Tommy. "If you could see me like this, why haven't you done it sooner?"

"I couldn't -it would have thrown you further in shock. You weren't ready," said Tommy. "I've been wanting to see you for so long and let you see me, but I couldn't allow myself to hurt you again."

"You wouldn't have hurt me."

"I wouldn't have, but having to leave again would have. You already couldn't handle what you had. Until tonight. Seeing you tell all those stories and being happy without blocking it out, and facing it head-on, I knew it would help you instead of hurting you."

"I still miss you," Glenn whispered. "When I can't see you here, I will."

"There's nothing wrong with that," said Tommy, lying down on his side on the rooftop. "I will too. But right now, we're here together. So just hang out with me up here tonight."

Glenn lay down beside Tommy, pulling the end of his scarf out from under his robe and pulling it around him, looping them together. As he pushed in against Tommy's soft, warm lips, Tommy pushed in against him, keeping him safely against the side of the house beneath the window as they locked on together -physical and real, balanced together between the living world and the dreams hanging in the sky, even if it was for just a short few hours.


	19. What Comes Next

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Glenn wakes up and tries to make sense of what happened the previous night. He comes to a decision, and he and Don have another opportunity to spend an evening hanging out with Robbin. (Guest appearances from Ratt again). Mostly fluff.

Glenn woke up with the sun coming through the narrow slats in the blinds to find himself completely wrapped and cocooned in the blankets and sheets of his bed, with his pillow and scarf inside tangled around him. So much in fact that the first minute of tugging himself out didn't have much effect aside from making the bedsprings squawk. He was moments away from shouting for help, and questioning just how ridiculous it would seem to Don that he was truly stuck in the bed.

It was just as he had swallowed his pride and taken an inhale to shout that he finally got an arm out and found the edge of the blanket. Even if he hadn't, Don was already on his way down the hall to check on him, so there wouldn't have been any unbelievable statements passed from out of sight.

There was still no removing some factor of embarrassment from the ordeal.

The door swung open, and Glenn flinched, offering a sheepish grin as Don looked him over with the struggling motions he untangled himself with.

"Jesus Christ, Glenn. You got it?"

"Yes. A moment ago, I wasn't too certain, but I think-"

"Are you going to need help fixing the bed?"

Glenn knew that was a statement as to the state of the bed, and in no way an offer of help, but he pretended he didn't realize it was a rhetorical question in the haze of waking up, just to see what came next.

"No, I'll figure it out-"

Don raised an eyebrow and narrowed his eyes knowingly, if with a touch of sass that was undeniably right for him that Glenn couldn't help but realize a great deal of if had been missing through the summer.

He looked down from Don to the bed and how the sheets were completely untucked from the bottom, and for sure, he'd have to take everything off the bed before putting it back on if it had hopes of being on properly to keep him from untucking it on a less restless night.

"-or at least I'll try first."

With a toss of his head, Don turned to go back down the hall.

"It's two in the afternoon. Just saying. You can stay, but I'm gonna be making a run through town in about an hour. So you know where I went."

Sitting up, Glenn finished untangling himself from the sheets and pulled himself out, trying to make sense of the previous night.

_That was way too vivid to not be real._

Glenn lifted one foot to look at the bottom. The ball and heel of his foot where he usually would bear the most weight standing and walking normally were slightly darkened from walking barefoot, but not enough to distinguish between the dust of dirt and pollen that would gather on a roof or porch outside, and the dust that collected on interior hardwood floors that hadn't been mopped in a couple of months. He couldn't tell if the slightly darkened points on his thin robe were from lying on a surface other than the bed, or simply from wear over the years.

His scarf was pulled over so that it hung only to his hip on his left, and on the right excess hung to loop back up, the end folded carefully into the pocket of his robe.

_Honestly, whether I was on the roof or not, something happened last night. Where the hell was I?_

"By the way, Glenn, did you wake up at some point last night and go walking around?" asked Don.

"Not that I can say I'm certain of. Why?"

Don looked up to the ceiling and put his finger under his lower lip, sarcastically raking his brain.

"I don't know. Little things. The office window was wide open when I woke up, and it definitely wasn't like that when I went to bed. The front door was unlocked and cracked open too. And I found your other throw blanket on the stoop."

Glenn stared blankly at Don, trying to sort out whether he'd looked out the window and imagined being on the roof from the front stoop, if he'd really been on the roof and been on the stoop later, or if it was all coincidental. He refused to believe that Tommy hadn't been there, regardless.

"I'm about to have to put a latch on the door and get sash locks and screens for the upstairs windows, aren't I?"

"No," murmured Glenn, looking back down to his plate. "I still can't remember opening either up last night."

Don shot Glenn the side-eye from under his bangs.

"Mmmm _-hmmmmm..."_

"At least I can't remember doing it." That was honest -he'd been on the roof, real or in a dream, but he had no recollection of opening a window or door.

"Well, I've never heard of sleepwalking being a hangover symptom. But I'll let you off the hook with it being an isolated incident _-just this once."_

Sleepwalking! _Alright, I've had enough ideas_ , Glenn thought to himself. _That was definitely real, and I don't care how impossible it seems -because it just was! It was real to me..._

Don got up from the table and put his coffee mug in the sink.

"I'm running into the studio to pick up something from Patt," he said over the running water. "When I get back, I have some phone calls to make with them getting finished up, and then we're calling Robbin."

"So your glorified babysitting's about to be over with," said Glenn, "unless you consider me part of that."

It took everything in Don's force of will to hold back a smile and maintain a serious look.

"Don't tempt me to think that way. My mind is capable of going places you don't want it to -even where I don't want it going. Being evil is fun though, I won't hold back if you give me the excuse to do it."

"I'm going to miss it," said Glenn, "even if we're both probably moving on to something a lot better."

Don sighed, searching for something witty to say. _Okay, don't you start. Don't get us thinking like that. Not this close to the end; it's gonna make it difficult._

"Guess it's already about to get quiet around here again," Glenn continued. That was easier.

"Oh, really?" asked Don, smirking with the sense of sneakiness of knowing something that Glenn didn't -if only for a few seconds, as he knew this was the best time to tell him.

"Well, if you're done with them -and there's nothing wrong with it -you're not going to be spending an entire week here, and there'll be little at best that Terry would still want to ask me. I'll have to spend more time with other things and find some more ways to keep myself from getting in trouble."

"I won't be here all week. You got that," ceded Don. "Doesn't mean I won't still be around here -or that you won't be seeing me pretty often."

Now Glenn was visibly confused.

"What, are you recording part of your album with Wyn down here in town instead of the studio up there?"

"Nope, think again. The week after next when we're in the studio, you're coming to stay with me for a few days at my place. We have a full list now and won't be writing anything else for my album, but John wants to jam."

Glenn's face lit up.

"Hope you don't mind me telling him I'd bring you up. I got the sense you would be onboard with that."

"Just as I thought there might not be another chance! Of course, I'll come, and I think I'll enjoy the drive up and back even more this time, so that we can have more time because I won't be nervous about driving back in the dark, and-"

"Alright, Glenn, don't get carried away." Don looked to the clock. "Ugh -damn it! Where did twenty minutes just go?"

Glenn shook his head, sitting back down and still looking happier than Don had seen him in a few weeks.

"Alright, before I get sidetracked again, I'm going to see Patt. Just fix the bed and be ready to call Robbin."

Two days later, Glenn found himself arriving with Don back to Robbin's house.

Robbin had perked up with the news that they'd come, and audibly was excited at finding out there was more than one birthday to celebrate, therefore all the more reason to have a party.

With the pressing of the doorbell, Don and Glenn were greeted by the sound of the bell itself, followed by two wavering dog howls, nails clicking on the floors, and a low chuckle before the door opened to reveal Robbin, and Max standing beside him, tail wagging a mile a minute so that his back legs trembled.

"Hey!" Robbin stepped out on the front stoop and gathered Don and Glenn in bear hugs before anything further could proceed.

"Happy birthday, King," murmured Don, feeling awkward to be saying it the normal way when in reality it was not the situation Robbin would have wanted to be in.

"It's a lot happier now that you two are here -and happy early birthday to you too, Glenn, and happy birthday to Tommy."

Glenn was so overwhelmingly happy that he hugged Robbin again, and just as he let go, Don gave an exclamation of "whoa!" as Robbin nearly stumbled forward and knocked them all down as Max shoved his head between his knees.

"That's a 'whoa', alright," said Robbin through a big grin. "Fair warning, I think this one knew you all were coming, 'cause he is big time in rare form today!"

"Rare form being a good thing, or a bad thing?" Don playfully pointed to Robbin as Max lowered himself down on his haunches against his right leg, taking perfect sitting formation.

"Both!"

"Look at him now, sitting and looking so good! We all know the truth though," teased Glenn.

Max tilted his head.

"You're rambunctious!"

"Inside!" Robbin led them inside and closed the door before the air conditioning could be overpowered by the high August heat, and immediately offered Don and Glenn something cold to drink. They all shuffled together to the kitchen.

"Is there anyone else you were expecting tonight?" asked Glenn.

"No, I tried inviting some others, but everyone within traveling distance has something going on where they can't promise to be here."

"A shame Patt and Terry had a gig in town tonight, we could have gotten them again otherwise."

"They were a lot of fun, but I'm happy that you two were able to show up," Robbin assured Glenn.

"Have you at least heard from anyone else today?" Don lingered by the open freezer door to cool off for a moment while getting ice for his glass.

"Well, Juan called and left a message this morning before I woke up," said Robbin, getting Glenn a can of ginger ale out of the fridge. "He told me that Stephen says 'hi', and that's as much as I expect to hear from him -I'm surprised to even hear from him through Juan these days since he doesn't seem to think he has time for anyone."

"Yeah, seems a lot of people don't. How about Bobby?"

"I talked to Blotz. He called a couple hours ago -come on, let's go in the living room and sit down." Robbin motioned over his shoulder for Glenn and Don to follow.

"Yeah, we had a pretty good talk, except for when he ranted for twenty minutes because he's pissed that wherever it is they're playing tomorrow night just raised the booking fee last minute and now it's gonna be deducted from the profit. It's not something they should be pulling within two days of time to go. And then you add in that being something Bobby gets a little hypersensitive about."

"He's far from the only one in that boat," Glenn piped up.

Don rolled his eyes, having experienced the kind of headache before.

"Fair enough. It's not a crisis like the early days, but that's on them -it shouldn't effect what was already booked and under contract -and Robbin, that's why I'm getting weary of festivals. Donington had it's problems for us, and by that point if things weren't already going downhill fast, the drama setting that up sure pushed the pedal on that."

"They're becoming a bigger thing too."

"That's because the scene isn't calling for touring in a different city every night. Already, John and I are having to settle with playing more festivals than I'd like to, and then there's the claustrophobia factor on top of the booking shit show."

Glenn grinned nervously. "I suppose I'm in for a culture shock when I eventually get back out there."

"You think?" asked Don. "Actually, if you get comfortable with being in crowds again, you might be more comfortable with festivals than me."

"It sounds like a good opportunity to see other artists who are more obscure, and to get some exposure if you're new or returning to the scene. I guess I can't speak too soon when I'll probably end up finding out in the next few years."

"That is a point, Glenn. Did anyone else call, King?" Deciding he didn't want to debate the topic any further, Don searched for a way back from the tangent.

"I woke up to the phone ringing and didn't get to it on time, and the number -I'm pretty sure it was Nikki, but he didn't leave a message." Robbin sighed, looking downcast. "He might be waiting until later to try again. Wish I'd heard from Warren today though."

Max walked over to Robbin and put his muzzle on his knee.

_"What?"_

The dog ran out of the room and came back carrying a toy that consisted of a circle of stiff, flexible fabric with a bending rubber ring around the outside. It was something that could be twisted up into a stick to throw that wouldn't splinter off and cause an injury from playing too rough, and it could be unfolded and smoothed out to be a soft frisbee that wouldn't easily damage anything if it was thrown in the house.

"We haven't mastered this one, but he had the idea from the first time -watch this." Robbin took the disk and folded it into fourths, forming a wedge-shape, which he held down on top of Max's muzzle.

_"Wait."_

Robbin slowly backed his hand off, held still for a moment, then jerks his arm up.

"Up!"

Max flipped his nose up so that the toy sailed up in the air, then caught it in his mouth as it came back down.

"And he's still such a young puppy!" Glenn was tickled to death.

Robbin twisted the disk back into a stick. "I'm gonna see if he can train to do it with smaller thing, and see what other spins we can add on that."

As Glenn picked up and took turns with Robbin throwing the toy, Don sat, quietly watching the TV, but sneaking looks at the endearing scene playing out in his side vision, until finally, Max came running back in the room without the toy.

"Where'd you put it? Did you leave it in the hall?"

Max tilted his head at Robbin.

"You left it in the hall?!" 

This time, Max jumped down with his paws extended out in front of him, squatting on his haunches in the position that could have wordlessly defined the term 'hyper puppy'. Robbin did an exaggerated gasp. 

"Go get it!"

Max sprang up and bounded out of the room. He came back with the toy and dropped it in Robbin's lap, but rather than waiting for it this time, he hopped up on his hind legs and stood with his paws on the sofa and on Robbin.

As Robbin gently wrestled Max over sideways to make him get down, Glenn and Don watched in a combination of horror and amusement, Glenn with widening eyes, as what could be described in no other way than a clear, horizontal _line_ formed in the air trailing from Max's snout about four inches out ...and then disappeared as gravity pulled it down.

Robbin's face twisted into the craziest expression and he slapped his hands down on his knees, giving them a swipe with his hands as he looked right at Max.

_"Hnnugh! Yyyyugh!_ Ugh-ugh-ugh! Slobber-globber, _yyughhh!_ Yuck!"

Don put his face in his hands, and Glenn snickered at Robbin's playful expressions of mock-disgust.

"I'd say _that_ just crossed over the line from sloppy dog kisses," Glenn strained.

"He's not a St. Bernard or a Newfoundland," said Don matter-of-factly. "That's nothing. Though I wasn't expecting to see that happen here."

"Excited. That'll happen when he gets excited, and he was probably stopped in his water dish." Robbin shook his head. "I don't mind it that much -but not everyone else I know is gonna feel the same way. I gotta tell him 'yuck'! We can't have that! All a work in progress."

"As is life, especially right now," said Glenn.

Don snorted. "No shit. Speaking of that, what else are you working on, Robbin?"

"Well, I've pretty much accepted that I'm off the road long term, and I'm not sure how long that'll be for. There's a chance I might end up with some more projects helping Lillian Axe to produce."

"Glorified babysitting!"

Don groaned. "You couldn't resist bringing that back, could you, Glenn?"

"I'm going to always think of that when I hear production now," said Glenn. "I can't help it; it's too funny!"

"Nah, those guys are cool with me. If anything, they're babysitting me, keeping me from getting lonely off the road," said Robbin with an affectionate tone. "And they'd have me helping with the official mix, so I would actually be working rather than overseeing it. Though part of me wonders if I should just get away from the music scene for awhile and do something completely different."

"Anything you got in mind?" asked Don.

"Well, with how I tweaked my back, I'll have to make some improvements if it'll happen, but I've always had an interest in outdoor recreation and sports too." Robbin smiled as his thoughts wandered. "It might seem like a polar opposite environment, but I wouldn't mind coaching a kids' sports team."

"You would probably do well working with kids. I could see it." At least Don couldn't help but feel that Robbin was a far more understanding adult than most coaches out there trying to relive their childhood glory days or doing it because they couldn't be professional athletes. People who said they cared by being in charge and clearly didn't. 

Robbin would care, because he would be doing it for fun like anything else.

_Too bad you can never count on the world to care back.._. Don tried to ignore his own uncertainty as he thought of how people would be able to easily take advantage of Robbin's kindness again, and not care of how unfair it was if they even tried to be aware of it.

"I talked to Jani -Jani Lane- and I know he's considering it if he ever has to come off the road. He really seems to be into this softball thing some of the guys out there had an event for."

_If he ever has to,_ Don thought sardonically. Already, the scene was declining, and it seemed the bands coming in at the end were disadvantaged regardless of how functional or dysfunctional they were, and what kind of talent they had. It would take a miracle at best to keep them on as long as Dokken had, and considering that was frustrating, knowing that things might have fallen apart in the band even if they had managed to keep it together after _Back for the Attack._

He didn't have it in him to question out loud if Ratt was going to end up benched soon, and that maybe it was a good thing for Robbin to have gotten out early, as hard as it was under the reasons he had. If shrinking crowds and lack of interest from the fan base were disappointing for Don, they would be devastating for Robbin.

_Case in point... no reason to try regretting what happened now._

"I could consider working at an animal rescue too -but it would have to be one with a lot of traffic, because I like working with people, and the smaller rescues that really need help don't get that."

"I would be happy working with animals in a rescue," Glenn piped up. "The problem would be that I'd have a full house in no time at all with every animal that looked cute and wasn't getting adopted."

"That would be all of us," said Don, matter-of-factly.

"There's a sad side to those," warned Robbin. "And some of them will make you feel guilty, knowing where some came from." He got up from the couch as the movie playing on the TV ended.

Before deciding to dig out some old Batman cartoons to put on next that made Don once again think of Jeff and hope that he was staying clean, Robbin took Glenn and Don to the kitchen to get ice cream and cake. It wasn't long from the time they were settled in again and the cartoons were loaded that the conversation managed to circle itself back around.

"Uhh, speaking of cute animals trying to make you feel guilty," quipped Don as he watched Glenn get the 'look' from Max, who had already unsuccessfully tried it on him and Robbin, suggesting that he at least wanted to know why it was fair that he couldn't have dessert too.

"No, I'm afraid you can't have that. That has chocolate in it," said Glenn, pointing with his spoon into his bowl of ice cream. "That will get you sick, and that's no fun."

"They'll eat anything, whether they can or not."

"Alright Max, let's go outside," Robbin decided, getting up and heading for the backdoor. "We've been here a couple hours, and we don't want too much excitement, whether that's a snatched plate or something else -it'll just be easier..."

"Easier because of not having to keep it away from him, or easier because he can't give you the puppy eyes and make you feel guilty," Glenn pried with a sinister grin when Robbin got back.

"He's gonna probably make me feel guilty in a moment anyway, because he's gonna realize I put him outside to keep him away from something and there's a chance he's not gonna be quiet about it," Robbin sighed. "I know, it's no fun at all."

Over cartoons and the rest of dessert, Don and Glenn traded conversation with Robbin over what they had been doing project-wise since the last time they'd seen each other -Glenn trying to get back on track with writing and helping Terry, Don working on his solo album and the 'babysitting', and Robbin shared some funny stories from producing with Lillian Axe.

"Where's Max?" asked Glenn, looking out the window over half an hour later when they got back from taking plates to the sink. "It's been a good while, and he's been quiet out there."

"He's not visible in the yard from the window?"

"Nope," said Don, double-checking for Robbin. "But we'd have seen him out the front window if he got out, so he's in there somewhere."

Glenn met eyes uneasily with Don and Robbin.

"He's up to something," Don finished.

Robbin hoisted himself up from the couch gingerly and made his way over to the back door. "He's probably around the side yard, but he is getting big enough that he could hop the fence if he really wanted to, so I guess I'd better check. We're done now, so I'll just let him back in."

"Maybe he just went to lie down somewhere in the shade and hang out," Glenn guessed. "It's kind of hot for running around too much out there."

"We'll find out."

_"Did you_ get in the _trash?"_

Glenn cracked a smile and whispered. "Uh-oh!"

_"Uh-oh,"_ Don repeated. "Oh, boy..."

Robbin then came inside with Max, who had plastic stuck to his collar from the big, green curbside garbage can outside for Robbin to unattach.

Don smirked as Glenn completely lost it with amusement at the sight. 

"That's why he was quiet!"

"Yeah, I think he can pass as innocent if he smiles and wags his tail, and we could blame a raccoon," said Don with the best deadpan he could do. "What say you, Robbin?"

Grinning, Robbin pulled the piece of plastic off and pulled Max by the collar toward the bathroom to clean his paws off. "Yeah, ya did! Don't do that again; you coulda choked on that..."

A few minutes later, Max was cleaned up. Robbin, Don, and Glenn were on their way back inside the house, pulling rubber gloves off after getting the trash back in the can, and the can standing back up.

Don and Glenn had also helped Robbin move the hose reel -it's metal structure was too heavy for Robbin to deal with while managing his back injury -so that Max couldn't use it to easily get to the trash can anymore.

"Thanks, you all. And that's all that's gonna come of it too, because fuck it -I can't stay mad at him if I can even get mad."

"And when I have a dog with me it's gonna be that way all the time, because when it comes to dogs, I might as well have 'sucker' written right across my head," said Don.

"And with the trends of our day going out, you probably won't be wearing a headband to hide it either," cracked Robbin.

Don turned to Glenn on his reaction. "Oh, you think that's funny?"

"I would have proudly worn a headband that said sucker on it so it would actually be on my head for them to see!"

"Would you have worn it onstage too, if you'd been performing?" asked Robbin.

"I might have, though that might be risky depending on how some might have found that to mean-"

Robbin found this incredibly funny.

"Look at what we missed out on, Glenn." Don sighed and shook his head.

"It really is a shame -I've got to get myself right as soon as possible so that I can get back to it before we all miss out on any more."

"I'm sure you'll get there and be great," started Robbin, though he didn't get much further with his encouragement.

The doorbell rang. Or really, the doorbell was nearly impossible to hear over the TV, but Max heard it and sat in perfect posture in the middle of the floor, baying toward the ceiling, only jumping up and running to the door when Robbin got up from the couch. Until the show of getting up and bounding away with the loose, flailing tendencies of a puppy's leg movements, it had looked graceful.

"You see, we're still crazy, but we have figured out not going too crazy and springing across all the furniture when the doorbell rings!"

"Was there anybody else you knew was coming?" asked Glenn, as he and Don both stood up in unison out of curiosity to see who was there.

"Actually, no," said Robbin. He looked down to Max as he headed to the door. "Who's outside? I don't know; let's go see!"

Don and Glenn hung back in the doorway of the hall, but Robbin's happy shout told it all to Don.

"Torch! Come'ere, it's so good to see you."

Don and Glenn both had to resist sneaking looks at each other when they both managed to sigh in unison, watching Robbin step back and pull Warren DeMartini into a hug as soon as he got inside the doorway. They knew they were all feeling the same bittersweet pang somewhere inside.

"What brings you by here?"

"Well, we're -the others and I -we're on the way up to San Francisco for a festival -not too far, so some of us opted to drive. I'm driving overnight, and uh, I happened to think I'd be passing through, you know, and just, uh, just wanted to stop in. You know, to say happy birthday to you before getting back on the road."

The awkwardness of separation was audible, and Don winced, feeling lucky that it hadn't lasted any longer than it had between him and Mick on his overnight visit. He squashed that thought before it could get him comparing what had happened in Dokken to what might have happened in Ratt that he didn't know to create so much distance from somebody like Robbin. 

"You know I'm always happy to see you stop in, Warren."

"It's good to see you too. I guess -well, I know it's been awhile; it doesn't always work out, and..."

Glenn returned to the living room, presumably out of discomfort, and Don was preparing to back off too for the same reason, between it seeming too private as his encounter with Mick had been, and Warren's expression being somewhere between guilt, uncertainty of whether he wanted to be there or not, and forcing a nervous giggle that threatened to turn into crying. Things he knew all too well he didn't want to relive.

"You wanna come in and stay for a bit?" asked Robbin. "We're just hanging out, watching some cartoons, and Max is living it up off all the attention since he's got everyone wrapped around his tail."

"That he does," Glenn called from the living room.

"Glenn," Don warned.

"I'd like to, but -I might, well, I should call first and check," Warren stuttered. "Juan and Blotz are a little keyed up right now and asked if I could do a couple of things up there tonight. If I get there late on top of all that, y'know, it'll be alright in the end, but it... It could, uh... I don't really wanna talk about how that might go until we get onstage."

He ended up making a phone call anyway, even when Robbin told him that he didn't have to stay if he absolutely couldn't. At least that was a slightly more positive sign, before distorted yelling was audible from the phone all the way down the hall, and Warren hung the phone up without even saying anything further to whoever he'd gotten.

_"Crap,"_ he finally whispered.

"It's alright, Torch."

Warren hesitated, at first looking uneasy and fearful of it, but he stepped forward and tightly hugged Robbin again, only for a moment, and then hurried back out to his car to get back on the road.

Robbin sighed and closed the door. "It may not seem like much, but it means the world to know you're not completely forgotten about, you know?"

"Not quite in the same way, but I get your drift." Don followed Robbin back to the living room.

"I suppose I should probably say it now in case we don't see each other again before you go on tour. I've been here since the start of the divorce, but there's a chance I could be moving sometime in the next couple of years -closer to where I've got friends who are a little more stationary," Robbin admitted. "I'll see how I'm feeling and how soon that'll work out. And if I even want to go to the trouble of moving -which I don't think I ever will _want_ to move -but if the benefits outweigh the hassle-"

"Why, because moving sucks?" Don couldn't have sounded more sarcastic if he'd tried, to the point at which he almost felt bad for taking that tone to Robbin.

"Yeah, it does."

"I'll have to get my stuff sent from storage in Atlanta to move in here too," Glenn added, "and that's something I suspect is going to be quite interesting, but I've made my decision I don't want to live there any longer."

"Sorry," said Don, holding up his hands, "but no. I'll help with getting clean and giving a place to stay, but I am not helping with moving. I already did that a few years back with no help whatsoever from my bandmates. And I won't be much help with boxes anyway. Maybe I'll help you arrange for UPS to pick them up and send them remotely, but if they're not boxes of things that I need, I'll unpack a couple, take a break, and I'll be lucky to unpack another in the same day."

"That's going to be me even with boxes I need, so don't feel too bad about that." Robbin sighed. "Maybe I need to figure out who can help me where I'm going as part of my decision. I'll mail you when I get to wherever I do when it happens. So you can reach me there. And maybe if someday things get right between you and Mick, I'll have to invite you two."

"Sure, I'll be up for just hanging out sometime -and if Mick isn't up for it, I'll be telling him to take his temperature." Don knew that was funny for reasons Robbin didn't, such as Mick Brown refusing to admit he was sick until he was on the ground because God forbid he get told to go to the doctor.

"That's one thing that's never gonna change, I would think," Glenn added in when Don and Robbin had settled down.

"Let's hope, and if it does, then at least we've got now." Robbin kicked back on the couch after loading in a new movie.

And Don and Glenn kicked back with him, simply enjoying a quiet evening hanging out and worrying about nothing other than having a good time together in between all the changes they'd been through and all the ones inevitably coming.


	20. Out On a New Limb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a summer spent together and some time with less frequent contact during the final album production stages, Don and Glenn see each other for the last time before Don leaves on tour with a new start, and Glenn sets off on another year of recovery and a return to the music scene.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And, that's it. History tells how Glenn and Don eventually got back in the scene, but their time together in recovery ends here, andthis is also where I leave this story up to the imagination of the reader to decide how Don felt on tour and how Glenn did in rehab.

_Three months later..._

Don walked noisily up the walkway to the house in the city. Though there weren't many trees in Los Angeles that were already well into shedding their leaves on the first week of November with as long as it took to be consistently cooler, the one over the walkway that had was doing a good job of covering the front yard.

"I raked two days ago, and you wouldn't even know it," Glenn insisted.

"If it weren't for the grass, I'd tell you to not even bother until it was all done," said Don. "I gotta get the Torenia out of the rail pots while I'm here, since it's they're just about done." The hearty-sized plants had turned leggy and with sparse, witty leaves, having spent themselves providing the pollinators with bell-shaped flowers for months on end.

Don was there to check on Glenn, and to get his remaining old gear out of the attic and pick up the house plants, but he knew he'd find enough reasons to linger all day and soak it in. _Up from the Ashes_ was released as of two weeks ago, and while Don didn't have any plans as to what would happen after the tour, he had a good enough feeling that this was his last visit to his house in the city.

It had served its purpose. The time he'd had in it at the start of Dokken still held enough experience that he could enjoy looking back on the time for something, and he could attempt to admit to himself without getting unnecessarily sappy that spending half the summer with Glenn -ups and downs included -was far more important to him than he could have gone into realizing it would be.

But it was time to move on. Everything about it was tied too strongly to something in the past, and there was no moving forward without letting it go. Glenn would have it as long as he needed, and whenever Glenn was ready to leave and move on too, he would sell it without looking back.

"I've got so many things coming up in the next year; I'll be plenty busy for sure now! You won't even have to worry about me having time to get into trouble, Don."

Don squinted one eye, raised an eyebrow above the other, and gave Glenn the side glance as he came down the stairs with a track recorder.

"Alright, I suppose I shouldn't exaggerate and that I should be more honest about that, since if I were to want to get myself into trouble, I would find the time to as I always did, but I'm quite sure that with what I've got ahead of me, I won't have the desire to."

"That sounds more reasonable."

Though he wouldn't say it aloud and give Glenn a sense of security to let his guard down, Don couldn't help but feel that this was as talkative and excited as Glenn had been since coming back to California about what he had ahead of him and all the things he wanted to do -most of which were probably going to get lost in the scheme of completing the other projects.

It was still a sign of normal for Glenn. This was Glenn being happy with where he was, and not stuck dwelling on something he couldn't change in the past. This was a Glenn who had a chance of finding a distraction in writing and playing instead of getting scared back into seeking comfort and escape from drugs, and who had continued to do well with infrequent visits from Don over the last two months, when two weeks had been too much in June.

"How was your doctor's appointment last week?" asked Don.

"I didn't feel like puking for the whole day after it, so I'd say it went much better than the last," Glenn offered.

Don snorted. Glenn's sense of humor -he was going to miss it even if it did drive him crazy if Glenn got into the mood to keep it going all day.

"That's great. Really. Now tell me, how'd it really go?"

"The doctor says my heart is looking to be in sound condition. I didn't have any alarms on the stress test, so I won't need another before the next catheterization test. I'm considering that once you leave I put myself in a month-long residential program. Just so that I get that every day focus when I'm on my own. Possibly two months, if they allow me to bring material to write lyrics with. It might just be something to write home about."

"One would at least think. Looking in from the outside, I can probably tell about half of what goes in and what's going on." Don headed outside to start cleaning up, and Glenn followed him out to the shed, carrying supplies around to the front to collect the half-dead Torenia plants and as many leaves as it would take Glenn to gather up to fill the rest of a lawn garbage bag.

"So I saw that the album is out," said Glenn. "I caught that 'Stay' track on the radio; I really like how that one came together."

Don blew out a sign and just nodded, silently acknowledging the comment. Even though getting the song recorded had left him half-numbed to everything behind the lyrics, he was more grateful than anything else about the album that it hadn't made the setlist and he wouldn't have to sing it multiple nights a week. He wasn't opposed to doing it on larger event nights, but when John had asked him if he wanted it on the main list, he hadn't made any argument to Don's immediate 'no.'

"We still have a couple more weeks to make arrangements for the tour, and then I'll be flying on out of here. First time on a real tour in awhile. It's a little different. First we're hitting bigger cities, breaking it up for the holidays in between, and then we go by bus to smaller towns. Haven't quite decided if I like it or not."

Glenn paused with the rake so that he and Don could both hear. "Maybe only hitting the larger towns and festivals can ease you back in after having the time off the road instead of going straight to almost every night? I know I'm going to take a while to get back into the swing of it."

"To be honest, I don't think I really want to tour like that -the way I used to -even if we're getting good turnouts and it is possible." Don thought back on all the nights of hardly having any privacy and time to just kick back without knowing there was something on the itinerary to be on time for in a few short hours. If the fighting and back talk had been the biggest source of his anxiety, constantly being in a rush was second. 

"It's nice having more than one week at home between legs of tours dragging on for months."

"I suppose I could get that, even though I quite liked being out and about. Maybe I won't now, since I'll have to watch myself more carefully." Glenn ran the rake against the ground, flipped with the curve going the wrong way so that the leaves stuck on the tines got pushed off. "But Tommy still wants me to get back out there, in some way, and I know it's where I belong."

"Any ideas on projects, or are you just heading straight for solo work?"

"Both. I've been throwing my name out around here and across the pond to a few producers."

"That so?"

"Yes, and it sounds like I may already have a few invitations for later in '91 if I'm still keeping it together a year from now. And John -Norum, that is -did he tell you-?"

Don smirked. "I knew it. No, he didn't, but I had a feeling he was looking at you for solo work." By the way John had acted from their first time playing over the phone in the wee hours of the morning back in June, to his first visit, and then the jam visits after all the writing had been done, it was impossible for Don to not see right through John and see his gears turning.

By now, John already seemed more interested in what he could be doing with Glenn in his own solo work once the tour was over than he seemed interested in the album and the tour he'd just done with Don. And Don couldn't deny to himself he was having to try pretty hard to keep his back turned to the green-eyed jealousy monster and not let it be another thing allowing him to question if anyone even cared or appreciated how much work had gone into the album, or that he'd literally spilled his guts and put in some of the most vulnerable lyrics he'd dared to publish.

It was still a good thing for Glenn. Something that would help keep him on the right track and getting back to writing and performing. And if John did well working with Glenn and enjoyed it, then that was great for him.

At least, Don felt a sense of pride somewhere inside, hearing Glenn mention seeking producers like it was a casual thing, when it had been the furthest thing from his mind for a time. The act of calling a producer might have been scary for a paranoia-driven Glenn.

"Did you say you were flying out?"

"Yeah, out of LAX," said Don.

"I could drop you off at the airport if it's easier than arranging a cab van from that far away," Glenn offered.

"That's a long way to come just to drive right back down. You don't have to do that. However..." Don considered the advance phone calls it would take to secure a ride that far and all the added trouble. "If you still feel up for it the day of, I might just take you up on that offer."

"You put up with me all summer. I don't see how giving you a ride is that much trouble."

"Oh, I put up with plenty alright." The joking remark, Don knew was one of Glenn's ways of saying thanks -one that he could easily respond to.

After a few more minutes when Don stuffed the Torenia into the garbage bag and held it open for Glenn to start scooping the leaf-pile in, Glenn broke the quiet that had fallen.

"So I was out on a walk in town a couple of weeks ago, and I passed a store that had an advertisement for a keyboard in the window. And it got me thinking about things."

"Yeah?"

"It's not like I haven't had that thought before, and I have this summer, but I didn't act on it then just because -I don't know, maybe I was ready then. I just didn't feel like I was, and I suppose it's one of those things where even if you are ready, you shouldn't until you're really sure of it?"

Don sighed, tying off the garbage bag. "Glenn, I get your drift -cut to the chase."

"I called Jon Lord last week."

"And how was he?"

"It wasn't a very long conversation," Glenn admitted, walking with Don to the curb with an uneasy look at remembering it. "It was definitely very tense at the start -and a little emotionally charged."

"He wasn't pushing away though if he was like that," Don stated.

"No. It went better than I could have asked it to. I question how much of that is the time that's passed and how willing he is to forgive, and how much of that is that Paicey talked to him-"

"Back to calling him by his nickname again?"

"It's more natural now that we're on speaking terms," said Glenn. "But I did talk to Jon -and I'm glad I did, because he did seem to be glad to know -and by the way we ended the call, it doesn't seem like it's going to be our last, so even though I don't plan on ever getting back in Deep Purple, something else could happen between us. I guess it's just another 'work in progress' as we've called it. There's hope."

"What isn't?" remarked Don, walking back toward the house. He paused in the front hallway, thinking of his night in July, and some of the funny stories of his time in Dokken with Mick he'd finally found it in him to share with Glenn back in August, once Glenn had recovered from the emotions of telling his stories about Tommy.

"There's hope for things getting better with Mick and I too -I can already see him coming back once he gets all this band-ended, mid life crisis stuff out of his system, or knowing him, getting it under control since that's just Mick in normal life. But I don't see it happening any time soon. At least not for a couple more years, and it's probably gonna be awhile before I'll be ready to try that again too."

"I really hope it ends up happening in a few years though," Glenn offered. "From the stories you told me about him, he seems like he's really someone special."

Silent agreement was the best response Don could offer in lieu of his thoughts.

_You might be one of the only people who understands half the accuracy in that statement._

He went through the house, gathering up the purple and red orchids, which had grown over the summer to a hearty size that could withstand living in the ground outside if it was shielded under a tree from getting directly pelted by the infrequent washouts of rain. Getting those in the ground outside with enough time for them to acclimate before he left would give him a break from the last minute arrangements and packing. 

He'd already taken the philodendron home, as it had grown enough that he had to let it drape across the inside of the car, and carrying it with equipment was asking for it to get injured. And the African Violet. That one needed more time to acclimate, because as cool as they looked when they could be encouraged to bloom, if they weren't the fussiest house plants Don knew of...

The broken stem on the jade plant had completely healed, save for the knot of thicker scar tissue around it. The new branch that had started just past the knot had started blooming, forming its first two leaves that a new limb would eventually branch out in a wide split from the main stem and thicken so that it looked like a full branch of its own, like the one in existence.

The only visible connection remaining would be right back to that ball of scar tissue where the two met back to the main stem. The injury they'd managed to grow past.

Glenn was looking over Don's shoulder with curiosity when Don came back to reality and the immediate task of packing the plants up.

"You did well with looking out for this one -keeping it watered and healthy when I wasn't here. When it has enough time to grow to a fuller form and cutting off a section won't throw the whole form out of joint, I could cut off a twig and root it, and you could have it. You could try and see if you can get it to grow into a full one too."

"I'm not sure if I've got the same green thumb for growing from the start, but I might try."

"You can do more than you think," said Don flatly. "Already, both of us have."

Two weeks later, he found himself staring out the window at the passing highway from the front passenger seat of the Jeep while Glenn drove. His luggage was piled in the back, and after the first of the two hours on the drive, it had turned quiet. Talk had ended in favor of silent thought.

_This is hardly the start... Still, after half a year living part time together, I don't know much about Don. He's a mysterious guy, but he deserves better than what some have said about him. He really does have a heart and cares without pretending,_ Glenn thought. _I'll miss him._

The motor droned as Glenn navigated his way up the on ramp and into the lane that terminated at the road running to the airport. He focused on the merging maze of lanes, and a quick glance to the side showed Don clear and reactive eyes, not obscured or dulled down by any snowy haze behind his sunglasses.

There was something else besides pride squeezing in Don's chest -something less pleasant, and he had to swallow it down before it got the better of him.

_I hope you realize that I got more hope for you than this tour and this album I've just spilled my guts on and poured my heart and soul into. Because it's already not selling fast, and there's no pretending it's gonna come close to what it would have under the band name, and no point in thinking about what if it had. Please prove me right in that, Glenn, regardless of the album. So that at least ONE thing I've done this summer will feel worthwhile. So that what YOU have gone through so far is worthwhile._

The car began slowing to a stop, approaching the front of the departure terminal building and getting in the line for the drop-off lane. Glenn began working his way down the exterior line, trying to get as close as possible to the drop-off for the correct airline to be in line with its check-in desk inside.

"Did you say Continental or Canadian?" 

"Would have been one of those, but we ended up switching last minute on Wyn's request for this one. TWA. I guess I could have thought that over better and told you sooner."

Glenn had already passed it, so he stopped where he was between the Continental and Northwest line.

"We're fine here." Don unstrapped his seatbelt and opened the door of the car, sliding out and stretching his legs after the two hour drive.

_Don't worry about going back. I just want to see you do alright and keep getting better, and that can't be in my control anymore._

Glenn also got out of the car, leaving them standing on either side of the car's hood, facing each other with blank stares from behind their sunglasses.

Goodbye wasn't an easy thing for Glenn. It was an awkward thing for Don in the best of situations, and he wasn't about to say his thoughts out loud and make the atmosphere heavy when it wasn't necessary. He especially wasn't going to chance getting Glenn worked up to an unstable place now.

Before he could get his tongue around something to say, Glenn had come around the front of the car and had his arms around him, and if he hadn't seen that coming, then he hadn't been trying. At least he hadn't thought much on it, but it was one last testament to just how real their time together was, even if it was a state of passing.

So he offered a brief but firm one-armed hug back and responded in the only way he saw fit once he let go.

"Keep your nose clean," he ordered, "and that has two meanings to it now!"

"It really does too," Glenn chuckled.

_You can manage both,_ Tommy added to Glenn, this time passing the same silent words Don seemed to send from where he stood by the open back of the Jeep with his luggage.

He got back in the car and watched through the open window.

Don hesitated a moment, slinging his carry-on bag over his shoulder. But then he slammed the door to the back shut and began the process of pulling his suitcase up the walkway to the check-in terminal. Five steps into the process, he heard the car radio volume crank on Bad Company's "Moving On" as Glenn pulled away from the drop-off lane and their paths branched off, leaving them to continue on their own.


End file.
